Never Too Late
by rhapsodyflower
Summary: My name is Meghan. Daphne Reynolds is my best friend, and also happens to be my cousin. And I would do anything for her. Anything.
1. The Story

Meghan's P.O.V.

**It had been an awesome party.** All of our friends came, and the music was perfection. Everyone had rocked out with Green Day, and hip-hopped with Usher. I myself had partaken in some of the merrymaking (I danced my head off), and I was sort of exhausted for doing so. I stood on a step-ladder, taking down decorations.

I was pulling a tack out of a streamer, trying to detach it from the wall. Shoot! It just poked me. Guess I was out of it. It was 11 o'clock at night, and normally I don't start getting tired until about 12:30. What can I say - I like to dance. And luckily, most of the decorations were already put away, thanks to the people who stayed to help. Hey, some buzzed-out sodaholic teenagers can really get a lot done expending their energy, ya know? Now, though, everyone had gone home, and I was the only one left. Where else was I going to go, anyway? I _did_ live here, after all.

Fortunately, I wasn't bleeding. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, I let the streamer drift to the floor and took the step-ladder over to another corner, where more were hanging on the wall. Not step-ladders, I mean - streamers. Yeah, I'm still out of it.

I heard a door open down the hall. The guest of honor! She must finally be coming out here to help me clean up. I mean, I threw this whole party just for her, and it's not like my cousin not to return the favor.

"Hey, Daphs. 'Bout time you got out here. I -" I stopped. My cousin was standing there staring at me, tears streaming down her face.

"She told the story again, didn't she?" I said sympathetically.

Nodding, my cousin sat down on the couch. I got off the step-ladder to sit next to her.

"Hey." I said, putting my arm around her. "One of these days, that guy's gonna show up."

She looked up at me, sadness gleaming in her eyes. "How can he," she sobbed, "if he doesn't even know I exist?"

Man, I didn't have an answer for that. As much as I wanted to give her one, I couldn't. "Look. Tonight...tonight just wasn't the night, is all."

My cousin looked down. She had nothing more to say. I held Daphne close as she cried into my shoulder...

**Flashback**

_12-year-old Meghan looked at the TV Guide._

_She and her mother had just moved in with her cousin and aunt, after both families had struggled to pay the bills for two years. Mom had been reluctant to leave their house just outside of Chinatown, New York, but she and her sister-in-law had decided it would be the best thing for them to each pay half the bills and live together with their children in the old converted art studio that Meghan's cousin and her mother had lived in for two years. Though it was smaller, it was cheaper and closer to Meghan's grandparents. Besides, the house held too many memories..._

_"CSI, CSI, CSI Las Vegas, Walker: Texas Ranger, news, news, Spongebob, Welcome to Windows: The Bill Gates Story, news, The Weakest Link, CSI..." Dang it, there was nothing on. Wait a minute - what channel was this?_

_"BBC America." Meghan pronounced. "Hmmmmm..."_

_She switched the channel. An old episode of Whose Line Is It Anyway? came on. Meghan laughed, but was puzzled to find that instead of Drew Carey, the show was being hosted by some dude named Clive. _

_"Hey, can I join you?" said a voice. Meghan looked up to see her cousin, Daphne, with a big bowl of popcorn in her arms._

_"Sure." She grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into her mouth, turning back to her show. Soon, both of them were laughing so hard that they almost choked on the salty snack._

_As the show ended and the credits rolled, they tried their best to stop laughing and calm down._

_"Oh, man." Daphne giggled. "I think we're gonna make great roomates."_

_"You think so, huh?" Meghan responded, desperately trying to contain her laughter._

_They were finally able to stifle themselves as the next program came on, which was a news program._

_"I guess this channel's from Britain." Meghan concluded. "I wonder if their news programs are less depressing than ours."_

_"Totally."_

_Of course, Meghan didn't mind watching this channel. In fact, Britain seemed like a very interesting place. "Hey, Daphs." she said. "Do you think maybe it would be cool to go to England someday?"_

_She didn't get an answer. Looking to her companion, she saw that Daphne looked to be completely entranced in the television._

_"Daphne? Hello?"_

_She saw her cousin draw in a sharp breath. Meghan turned back to the screen, expecting to see video of a huge fire or something, but she saw nothing of the sort. Just some boring story on some guy in the English nobility._

_"Uh...Daphs? Am I missing something here?"_

_Meghan watched as Daphne's chin began to quiver. Her head bent, and she forced her eyes closed, holding back tears._

_"Oh my gosh! Daphne, are you alright?"_

_She held the crying girl close, comforting her for a reason she didn't know. "It's OK. Don't cry."_

_Meghan looked up to see her aunt come into the room._

_"Auntie Libbs, there's something wrong with Daphne."_

_A look of concern came over the blonde woman's face as she rushed to her daughter's side. "Daphne, sweetheart? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" _

_Trying to comfort her child, Libby caught a glimpse of the television. She quickly looked again, and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my..."_

_Now, Meghan was really confused. Both her cousin/best friend and her aunt were acting like they'd just seen a ghost, but she still could see nothing out of particular interest on the screen whatsoever. _

_"OK, what's going on?"_

_The woman looked back to her daughter. Daphne looked up to her, then at Meghan, then at her mother questioningly, with tears still streaming down her face. Libby then stared hard at her neice, and looked to be making a decision._

_"Meghan." she said seriously. "If I tell you something about Daphne, can I trust you not to tell anyone else? Not even your mother?"_

_Meghan looked away for a second. "You can trust me." she told her._

_Her aunt looked away for a minute. Meghan waited._

_"Alright." she said. "Look at the screen."_

_Meghan did so._

_"Do you see that man?"_

_Meghan stared for a minute._

_"Yeah, what about him?"_

_Silence. Libby looked down, and away._

_"That man," she said, still staring at the floor, " is Daphne's father."_

And thus, we sat there now, crying and fretting. You can probably tell - I still watch that channel. But only when I'm the alone in the house.

I, just as Daphne, could find no way possible in which that 45-ish year-old man from London who's been blissfully unaware of my cousin's existence for 17 years could all of a sudden turn up on our doorstep and ask Daphne if she'd like to have tea with him, or watch a polo match or something. But I'm not one to accept reality. That's why I always change the channel when the news programs come on.

However, I am rational enough to see that this can't be hidden forever. It's unfair, to Daphne and many other people. I haven't gone against my aunt's wishes, though - because believe it or not, I understand her side of everything too. And what right do I have to interfere? Really, I shouldn't even be involved.

The only reason I can see that I'm involved is maybe for Daphne to have someone to talk to. I don't see how I'm any help. But then...

"Daphne," I tell her, "someday we're gonna go to London, you and I. And we'll march up to his castle thingy and, well, we'll tell him ourselves!"

Daphne looks at me with disbelief.

"Or," I say, "you can fly there yourself, and break into his mansion pretending to be the paparazzi. Just know that you'd be on your own with that one."

Please don't hate my randomness.

Daphne laughs, and pretends to ponder the idea."I think I like the first one better."

I look at her.

"Then that's what we'll do."

**Okay, so that's the first chapter of my first fanfic. I really, really, really hope you like it. But if you don't, please don't be too harsh with your reviews. I will, however, graciously accept constructive criticism. I have a slight fear that I may have made Daphne a bit too much of a crybaby...**

**I have posted the second chapter as well. If you don't hate the story already, please read on. :)**


	2. The Internet

**It was Monday, the worst day of the week.** Meghan walked into the computer lab.

She found an empty seat, and plopped down into it. Clicking on Internet Explorer, she typed in a web address.

Up came the page. It was a college site, on which she had a personal account. Opening the account, she was surprised to see that two colleges had read her profile and were interested in having her attend.

She was about to click on one of them when something flashing on the side of the screen caught her eye. It was an advertisement.

_"Ready for a change?" _the thing flashed.

Meghan looked on.

_"Want to see the world?"_

A flicker of interest flared up inside her.

_"Want to expand your horizons? Wondering how the world lives? Then Study Abroad is for you."_

She found herself clicking the flashing box. Another web page appeared. On the screen were pictures of smiling teenagers. One was wearing a traditional African dance outfit. Another was Asian, and looked to be holding a stack of books. Still another was a boy in a parka, standing in front of a colorful castle in Moscow.

"Welcome to American Foreign Exchange" was the headline. On the left side of the page she saw a list of countries to click on. On the right side, more flashing boxes, all having to do with the program. She examined them briefly, and was about to start clicking countries when, all of a sudden, a new box appeared.

_"Win a semester-long study abroad scholarship!" _it read. Intrigued, she clicked the box.

Yet another webpage came up.

_"Enter our essay scholarship contest, and you could win an all-expense-paid semester in England! Includes program fees, airfare, schooling, and necessities. Housing and living expenses are paid for by the host family. Contest rules are as follows:_

_-Essay topic: Many people in the UK and other countries view _

_american teenagers as being ignorant, spoiled, and careless. _

_What is your view on this matter, and how would you respond?_

_-Essay must be at least 1000 words long, and no longer than 1500_

_words long._

_-Must be typed. Can be sent by standard mail or e-mail._

_-You must be a legal US resident, and at least 16 years old._

_-We must receive your essay by July 10th, 2003._

_-Must include form below with general information."_

Meghan scrolled down. There was the form, asking for her name, age, address, and other things. At the very bottom was the fine print. She mouthed the words to herself.

"Odds of winning: 1/5000."

_Ha. Like that'll ever happen. Still..._

Meghan was definitely compelled. To win something like this would be a dream come true. And an _essay_ contest! Her grades were so-so, but...she knew how to write.

Without thinking, she filled out the form. Then, she began to type.

**Meghan's POV**

New York is a big place. But of course, you must know that by now. When many people think of America, the image of New York comes to mind. Here is the most populated city in the nation, and still more people come here to visit or to live every day - somehow, they're all able to squeeze in. This is the very definition of the sought after "Big Time", but I've lived here all my life. At least, all that I can remember.

Not that I haven't ever been anywhere else. I've been to the countryside, and also New Jersey (I don't know why people hate it so much). I went to Connecticut once, when I was five, to visit some great aunt of my mom's. She insists I've been to Canada, but I can't remember any part of it (darn). Basically, though, I've been pretty much in the same area for 17 years.

Every time I'd ask where I was born, my mom would say, "In a hospital.". I've long since stopped asking. See, my mom's like that. If she doesn't want to talk about something, she WON'T. Like this one time, I asked her why she didn't like cheese. She proceeded to tell me that she'd throw up if I asked again. That's my answer. Another time, I asked why she has a poster of the band Limp Bizcit on her wall...you finish the rest.

Though frustrating to me, I find that a very interesting trait of my mom's. She's taught me that not all information needs to be disclosed. I'm thankful for that. Some people I know tend to go into _way_ too much detail about their personal lives, and that's often not appreciated by those around them.

But what am I telling you all this for? I _must_ be boring you. You have better things to do than to hear me talk all the day long. My point, though, is that people don't wonder enough. I know that makes no sense, but...as huge and sparkling a city New York is, there are much bigger things. And sometimes, when I see people here walk by, their faces...they're so glazed over. There's more to life than the bustle of this city. Am I the only one who wants to see it?

**"Hello!"** Meghan called. "Anyone home?"

She closed the wooden door behind her.

"Just me, honey." came a voice. Her brown-haired mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Hey mom...are...you making something?"

"I'm just washing dishes right now."

Meghan grimaced.

"Ugh...is that dishwasher busted again?"

" 'Fraid so. But hey, I've only got a few dishes left. You care to start some laundry for me, maybe earn a couple bucks?"

"Um, alright. Just no underwear."

"No, don't worry. I've already washed all the underwear." A smile crept across her face.

Meghan then found herself standing in front of the washing machine, loading in clothes and pouring detergent.

"Mom! We're out of water softener again!"

"I know. Just wash the clothes without it."

When the load was started, Meghan wandered into the kitchen.

"So...where is everybody?"

"Your aunt picked your cousin up early from school. Doctor's appointment."

"Really? She didn't say anything about an appointment."

"That's because her mom never told her she had one. It's for a blood test, and you know how Daphne hates those things."

"So do I."

"Yeah, but you're better at getting them. For her, though, anticipation is the worst."

"I guess."

Meghan went to the pantry to get some graham crackers. She then sat down at the table.

"Whaf's fer didder?" She asked with her mouth full of graham cracker.

"Actually, I was thinking maybe we could have pizza tonight. I know you just had some at the party Saturday, but..."

"Mom, you actually think I'd turn down pizza, like, _ever_? And don't worry, I remember you didn't get any because we ate it all, so you can have half the pizza, OK?"

"Sorry, can't accept the offer. I thought of pizza because I have to go to a meeting tonight, and I can't help with dinner."

"Oh, Mom, not again."

"Again, I'm sorry. But be sure to save some pizza for me."

"Sure, whatever."

Catherine looked at her daughter.

"Hey, don't be sad. At least you don't have to go get a blood test."

"Lucky me."

There was a pause.

"Meghan, we'll eat together tomorrow night, I promise."

"See ya then."

With that, Meghan took the graham crackers and trudged to her room.

**Well, that's it for now. As I said, I hope you like it.**

**And before I forget, I do not own _What a Girl Wants_ or any of the characters in it, nor do I force them to do slave labor. Also, I do not own American Foriegn Exchange, if there is a such program; I'm too dumb to find out. I also do not own New York, England, or pizza, though it would be interesting if I did. HOWEVER, I do own Meghan and Catherine Reynolds as they are fictional characters of my own creation.**

**I plan on posting about two chapters at a time, but I will only post more of this story if I get at least one good review. So if you want to read more, write what you think. :D**

**Peace out**

**-rf-**


	3. The Letter

**Okay! I have officially gotten one good review. (Thanks very much to the person who subnitted that review, by the way. :D ) Anyway, it's been two weeks now since I last posted, so I think it's time I posted some more. So here you go, see what you think!**

**Oh, and I don't plan on taking this long to update every time, either. I tried to post this earlier, but wasn't able to.**

Meghan's head bobbed as she sat against the headboard of her bed, headphones latched to her ears. Her eyes were closed, and she was engulfed in the music. She therefore did not notice when the door to the room opened and a girl walked in.

"Meg."

Her eyes remained closed.

_"Meg."_

No response.

"MEG!!"

"Ackwhere'sthefire!" shouted the startled teenager.

Daphne burst into laughter.

"It's just me, dork!"

Meghan calmed down at the realization, and was hit with a pang of embarrassment.

"Well, you shouldn't scare me like that." she said as she switched off her CD player and took off the headphones. "I was busy."

"Yeah, busy dancing like a maniac."

Meghan gave the laughing brunette a sarcastic smirk.

"Har-har. I'll remember that the next time I hear you singing disco songs in the shower."

"_One _time. I do that one stinking time, and nobody can let it go."

"What? It was _classic._"

Daphne rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, I came up to ask you what you wanted on your part of the pizza."

"Uh, what I usually have. Sausage and peppers."

Daphne made a face. Meghan cocked her head.

"What's wrong with sausage and peppers?"

All Daphne could say was, "Yuck."

"Picky."

"That's me!"

Daphne turned and started to walk out.

"So how was the blood test?"

Daphne stopped and turned back.

"Blood test?"

"Yeah, your blood test. You were supposed to get one today."

The girl gave Meghan a puzzled look.

"I didn't get any blood test."

There was a pause as Meghan's eyebrows shifted in confusion.

"But, Mom said... "

Daphne seemed to realize something. She bent her head.

"That's what my mom must've told her." She once again turned to walk out, more hastily this time.

"Wait, Daphne...?" Meghan started to protest, but gave up.

Her cousin closed the door behind her.

_Weird._ Meghan thought. She strapped the headphones back on and let herself slump into her bed.

**Three** **women sat around the dining table, enjoying some delicious pizza**. One of them, of course, was Meghan, who held a slice high above her head. A long string of cheese trailed from it, ending with her mouth. The girl next to her sat gingerly picking sausage and peppers off of her portion of the yummy meal. Across from them, the oldest reached across the table into the flat, square box for seconds.

"Geez, I think I ordered the extra crispy crust by mistake." Meghan's aunt commented. "But hey, it's still pretty good."

"I can see that." her neice said, slurping up the cheese. Crispy crust or not, Meghan was enjoying her dinner.

She soon heard Daphne let out a satisfied breath. She turned.

"There. Finally done." she said, relieved to be finished with her extraction of toppings.

Meghan snickered.

"Daphs, you don't know what you're missing." she told her.

Libby, who had opted for a simple pepperoni topping, shrugged.

"You have to admit, Meghan." she commented. "You do have some interesting food preferences."

"All part of being a leader, and not a follower." Meghan stated.

"Hey, 'Leader'." her cousin remarked. "You've got cheese on your shirt."

"Huh? Oh, darn." Meghan said, looking down. She quickly grabbed a napkin to dab off the gooey substance. Looking at Daphne, she crumpled up the napkin and placed it in her lap.

"Thank you," she said, "for bringing that to my attention, kind friend."

"You're very welcome." came the goody-goody response. The girls both smiled as their caring aunt/mother looked on. She then smiled as well.

Meghan watched as Daphne took a tiny bite out of her pizza, then immediately set it down on her plate to take a tiny sip of water. She then wiped her hands on her napkin, and started again, only with two bites. After taking another sip and wiping once more, she bit into the pizza again, springing for a whopping four bites this time.

_I guess she's savoring the flavor._ Meghan thought. She took another huge bite of saugage-and-peppery goodness, and another string of cheese hung from her lips.

**It** **was two months later**. Meghan and Daphne had just finished their junior year of high school and were enjoying their summer vacation. They lay on beach chairs on the roof, soaking in the scorching hot late-July sun.

"Meghan?"

"Mmm?"

"This is boring."

"Course it is. But there's nothing on TV, we're broke, the car is down the street getting repairs, the computer isn't working right, and there're no catalogs left to draw mustaches in."

"Well, we've been out here for an hour and a half now, and my skin feels like it's melted off my body."

"I don't like tanning either, Daphne, but mom says I need some color."

"Who cares about color? Certainly not you."

_She's got a point there._

Meghan said nothing for a moment. Just then, she realized how hungry she was.

"Wanna go inside and get something to eat?"

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

Both of them got off their chairs, grabbed the water bottles they'd taken out which by now were luke warm, and went inside to take off their bathing suits and change into their clothes.

They came downstairs to find Daphne's mother in the kitchen wiping off the counter. Catherine was in the living room watching a talk show.

Daphne sat at the table while Meghan searched the freezer.

"Want some microwave burritos?"

"I just want some food."

And so, the microwave was soon whirring with burritos cooking inside. When they were done, Meghan took them out and set one of them in front of Daphne. The other she set before herself. They became very impatient as they waited for them to cool.

"Aw, come _on!_" Daphne whined.

"That's it. I'm tired of waiting." Meghan announced. She then proceeded to take a huge bite out of her burrito.

She was forced to spit it right back out on her plate and run for a glass of water.

The others chuckled.

"Sweetheart, haven't I told you to wait for things to cool before you eat them?" her mother said.

"Yeah, I bet you find this _so_ hilarious." Meghan said sarcastically.

Suddenly, she heard the front door open and close. She hadn't heard her aunt go outside - she had been busy washing her mouth out - and was surprised to see her walk back inside with her arms full of mail.

Meghan watched her sort through junk mail and bills, and pull out two decorating magazines. When she pulled out one particular envelope to examine it, the woman frowned.

"Apparently...Meghan," she said, "you've got mail."

Libby smiled cheerily as she walked over and handed her the parcel.

Perplexed as to why she would be recieving anything other than college brochures or the next issue of _Teen Vogue_, Meghan slowly tore the envelope open.

"Oooooohh, maybe it's a _love_ letter." Daphne swooned.

"Sock it, Daphne." Meghan told her. "That'll be the day when I..."

Silence. Meghan's aunt and cousin looked at her questioningly.

"Oh, my..."

**Alright then. Well, as promised, I've posted two chapters at a time, so the next one's up as well.**


	4. The Decision

**Meghan was halfway out of her chair.** She read the letter in a low, slurred whisper to herself as her eyes grew larger than the burritos.

Her family could hear noises coming out, but couldn't understand what she was saying. Catherine sensed that something was going on and came into the dining room to investigate.

"Oh...OH!..."

"What? WHAT?!"

"I...I WON!"

Meghan was standing up now.

"Won what? The lottery?" Daphne frantically asked her.

"No! No, that's not it...I just...I can't believe this!" The excited teenager jumped up and down.

"Meghan! Tell me what you're - "

"Look!" She thrust the paper into her cousin's hands.

Daphne proceeded to scan the letter, eyes dashing back and forth, up and down.

"An...essay contest."

"Essay contest? That's my girl!" Meghan's mom rushed over to throw her arms around her daughter, beaming with pride.

"Hey, that's great!" her aunt agreed. "Whadja win?"

Daphne, who was still holding the letter, read further.

"I think she won a trip."

The two adults' voices chorused with excitement.

"A scholarship, actually."

"Oh, Meghan! I'm so proud of you! This is wonderful!" her mother cried.

"What school is it for?" her aunt inquired.

Daphne scanned further.

"It's a semester-long scholarship for someplace called...The Jasperstone Academy for Girls."

There was a pause. The adults had funny looks on their faces, having not heard of this school at all before.

"A girls' academy?" Catherine chuckled. "I don't think that's exactly Meghan's forté."

"Well, I think...I think this is some kind of foriegn exchange program. This school must be in another country."

Shock came over the parents' faces, and Meghan began to feel nervous.

"Wha...what?"

"I'm serious."

Meghan stared at the wall.

"Well, that's shot." Catherine stammered, overwhelmed. "We can't afford-"

"Everything is paid for." Daphne interrupted.

The semi-proud, semi-flabbergasted woman stared blankly. Daphne went on.

"Airfare is paid for. Housing is paid for. And...a bunch of other stuff...is paid for."

"I don't buy it."

"It's true, Aunt Catherine-"

"WAIT a minute."

Libby, who had been silent for a time, spoke up.

"Supposing this award actually _is_ legitimate, where exactly will Meghan be staying? Who will support her? Buy her food and necessities?"

"Says here she would be staying with a host family in the city in which the school is located. For a gimmic, it sure gives a lot of information."

"Mmm-hmm. And what city is this?"

Apparently, the letter hadn't mentioned that yet. Daphne's eyes moved downwards, then back and forth. Then her eyes came to a halt; the answer had been obtained. She paused for a moment, staring at the print. Then she spoke.

"This school is in London."

**Meghan sat on her bed,** **hugging her knees and staring straight ahead.** Her cousin sat on the ground by their bedroom door, head back against the wall.

"Have they stopped shouting yet?" she asked Daphne.

"Yeah...they're still talking though."

Meghan looked straight again. "Whatever. They're never gonna consent to this one."

The girl on the floor looked up. "Don't be so sure."

Meghan looked at her strangely.

"What do you mean?"

Daphne half-smiled.

"Well, I can't understand them now." she said. "But when they were shouting, I caught a few things. And for the record, I think my mom was actually standing up for you."

Meghan raised her eyebrows.

"_Your _mom? And my mom's the one who's against it?"

"Sounds like."

Meghan plopped on her back, just barely missing her pillow.

"Wow. I would think it would be the other way around. No, wait - more like them _both_ being against it and arguing about what an idiot I am for even signing up for that contest."

"Nah. Don't worry, it wasn't that bad."

"I'll try to take your word for it."

There was silence.

"Well, I think it's cool. That you won, I mean."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

Meghan grabbed her cold burrito, which had been sitting on a plate next to her on her bed. She took a huge bite.

"I really hope Aunt Cathy lets you go. I mean, it's kinda the chance of a lifetime."

"Yeah, I know."

Meghan took another bite.

"Hey, can I have a piece of that burrito?"

"You just had one."

"Well, I want more."

Meghan examined her food.

"Alright. You know what - just take the rest of it. I'm not really that hungry anymore."

**It had been three hours since I opened that letter.** Amazingly, it really wasn't a gimmic - the adults had examined it themselves, _thoroughly_. I was incredibly shocked and happy that I had won, but also depressed about the fact that it probably didn't make any difference.

I was laying there, gazing into space, when there was suddenly a knock on the door. Daphne was so startled that she almost choked on a piece of tortilla.

"Can we come in?" It was my aunt's voice. Daphne answered between coughs, and the door opened.

"Meghan, your mother and I have reached our decision."

I sat up a bit, leaning on my elbows, and saw my mom standing in the doorway. I gave them my attention, though I was pretty sure I knew what was coming. Aunt Libby sat on Daphne's bed.

"We've been talking - I'm sure you probably heard." she said, eyeing Daphne.

"What?" my cousin protested, mouth full of burrito.

My aunt paused.

"_Anyway_," she said, turning back to me, "we think we've made our choice."

I looked on with silence. They had taken only three hours - a little less, actually - to make a huge decision like this. Not a good sign.

"We've decided...we're going to let you go."

That practically knocked me off the bed.

"Really? Are - are you serious?!"

"OK, calm down - yes, I'm serious."

I was sitting straight up now, boiling over with excitement. I looked back and forth to my mom and aunt, gratefulness about to pour out of my mouth like a waterfall.

"OH...THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK-"

The lone blonde in the room held up her hand, closing her eyes and pursing her lips. I stopped.

"Now, hold on, Meghan. This isn't an easy decision for us. We were both initially against it."

I breifly glanced at Daphne, and shot her a "what did I tell you" kind of look. She gave me one of her goofy grins.

"We were very skeptical about it. We weren't sure you could handle something like that - being alone, for a long period of time, in a foriegn country. But...I started to see some good in it. I reasoned that it would be a good experience for you. Also, being seventeen, you're old enough to be able to start doing a _lot_ more things on your own. And it's a developed country, it isn't North Korea - you'd be reasonably safe there."

_And this is why you are my favorite aunt - well, you're the only one I have, but still my favorite. _I thought.

"And after a while, your mother agreed. But this is still very hard for her."

I looked at Mom. She was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, head bent. Her face was solemn. I hadn't seen her look like anything close to this since...

"So I need you to promise something." my aunt said. "Promise us you'll be responsible, in everything you do."

I looked her straight in the eyes.

"I promise, Aunt Libby."

She smiled one of her warm, comforting, radiant smiles.

"I believe you." she said, placing her hand on mine. "We trust you, Meghan, we always have."

_You can trust me._ I thought. And it was true.

**Well, that's it for now. Hope it was good! Please, _please_ review if you like it! Or even if you don't like it! I need some input here!**

**I'm already on the sixth chapter so far, but please tell me what you'd like to see happen!**

**-rf-**


	5. The Parting

**Hello friends. First I'd like to give my thanks to the person who favorited my story (I'm so honored!!!).**

**Here are the next two chapters, read and enjoy! This one's pretty serious - it gives some insight about Libby and Daphne's thoughts and feelings. The one after it is a little lighter, and will start to introduce some new characters. :) **

It was about midnight, and as usual, Meghan still wasn't asleep. Usually, at about this time, she'd be downstairs watching Letterman. But her mother, who often liked to stay up and watch with her, had decided to go to bed early that night, and it had been suggested that everyone else do the same so as not to bother her. And since Daphne couldn't sleep with a light on, Meghan couldn't even read in bed. So she was just laying there, thinking in the dark.

"Meghan?" came a whisper. "Are you awake?"

"Of course I'm awake." she replied in a low voice, not bothering to whisper. "You should know me better than that by now. Besides, I'm too excited to sleep."

She turned over to face her sleepless roommate.

"Then can I ask you something?" Daphne said, no longer whispering as they both sat up.

"Hit me."

The girl paused for a moment.

"When you go, do you think you'll ever see..."

"Your family?"

Daphne looked down and began to fiddle with a loose thread on her bedsheet.

"I dunno." Meghan answered her. "Maybe."

Daphne kept fiddling.

"I...I don't really know why I'm asking you this. I just...wish..."

"I know. I understand. There's something you want more than anything...you should be going on this trip, not me."

"No, Meghan. You deserve this. I shouldn't even be saying anything. I should just be supporting you."

"Don't feel like that. Don't feel guilty."

"But-"

"Daphne, you have no reason to be ashamed for how you feel. You can talk to me about anything, and I will listen. And, you know, maybe...maybe it's time."

"Time what?"

"Time he knew."

Daphne dropped the thread and looked straight at Meghan.

"I mean, think about it! I was chosen out of thousands of people to go to London for writing one lousy essay! That could mean something. Maybe this is how it's supposed to happen."

Her cousin was silent.

"I think you should talk to Aunt Libby."

That got her talking.

"Mom? Are you _crazy_? She'd never understand."

"She loved him."

"I know that. But-"

"Look, Daphne, it's not my place to get involved or do anything against your mom's wishes. I told her I wouldn't say anything, and unless she tells me otherwise, I won't. But maybe if you talk to her, tell her what this means to you, then maybe she'll come around. All I'm saying is to give her a chance."

Daphne looked away.

"I'm sorry, Meghan, but believe me when I say that I have talked to her before. Many times. And she isn't going to change her mind. She's...she's just too hurt."

Meghan just sat there, not knowing what to say.

"I just have to accept that I wasn't meant to have a father."

_I'm so sorry, Daphs. _Meghan desperately wanted to comfort her cousin. When Daphne was like this, it wrenched her heart.

"Everything's going to be alright, Daphne." she said. "If he knew you, he would love you, just like he loved your mom. And you have us. We'll always be there for you, no matter what."

There was a pause.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being there."

Daphne laid back and turned over.

Meghan watched her for a minute, then laid back down herself.

"Just...don't worry, Daphne. Don't worry about anything." she told her. And that was the last thing Daphne heard before she drifted to sleep.

Meghan wasn't that far behind.

**Someone else was stirring in the night.** That someone was a thirsty blonde woman who went downstairs to get a glass of water. She had been so thirsty, in fact, that she had stood by the counter to drink the whole thing only to refill it again. She had not been sleeping well.

By the time Libby finally remounted the stairs, her second glass of water was already half gone. She slowly climbed up each stair, taking more sips. When she reached the top, she suddenly heard someone say her name. Curious, she walked toward the room that Meghan and Daphne shared and stopped just outside the door. At about the time she got there, she heard her daughter's voice.

"-Are you crazy? She'd never understand."

"She loved him."

Libby found herself listening to their conversation. The door was hollow and thin, and she could hear them very clearly. When she realized what they were saying, that whole sorrowful feeling came over her again. That horrible, regretful, sorrowful feeling. Again.

"I've talked to her before. Many times."

Yes, she had. There had been many talks. Talks that Meghan hadn't ever known about.

Then she heard it. Those miserable words.

"-I wasn't meant to have a father."

Those words put a dagger straight through Libby's chest. And for the first time in seventeen long years, she truly realized how much this hurt Daphne. How much _she _was hurting Daphne.

"If he knew you, he would love you."

_Yes. He would. _she thought. Oh, what had she done! She had asked herself that question so many times. But it never was as unbearable as it was right now. She slumped to the floor and laid back against the wall.

What was she doing? Why had she kept this hidden for so many years? Why was she keeping Daphne from her own family? It was terrible. How could she have possibly ever justified that?

Then she remembered. She had always told herself that it was too late. That's what she'd told herself ever since she'd stepped on the plane that took her back to this country. And it was true, it was too late for her.

But it wasn't too late for Daphne.

She had never stopped loving that man. Maybe it was time things changed. And Meghan was going to London...

**It was a month later.** Meghan was in an airport for the first time in years. Her family was there with her, helping her carry some luggage as they rushed along. Catherine had traveled a lot in her life, and had a look of indifference in her eyes as she dragged along a rolling case with an ugly floral design on it. She was followed by her sister-in-law, lugging a very large duffel bag. Meghan and Daphne were following behind, each carrying old suitcases full of junk. Although to Meghan, it wasn't junk at all.

Daphne was a funny sight. Though she'd technically been to an airport before, she'd never seen one, and seemed absolutely starstruck to be there.

"Ooooooh, look at all the people."

"Yes, there usually are a lot of people in an airport, Daphne."

"Oh, look! A snack bar!"

"Yes, Daphne, people get hungry while they wait."

"Oooooh, big flashy signs!"

"Flashy signs are easier to read, Daphne."

"Ah!"

"Don't trip, Daphne."

The girl's unchracteristic ditzyness made Meghan smile. Perhaps this relative of hers had downed a bit too much coffee this morning. Her personality usually was a bit perky, but today...well...she probably could've passed for one of the cheerleaders at their school. Ugh.

But then Meghan looked at Daphne, who gave her a quick glance and a playful smile. And when she saw that underlying down-to earth look in her cousin's eyes, she knew that she was, once again, joking. She had gotten only about three seconds to look, before Daphne's face again became overcome with manic thrill as she pointed out some other random airport feature. But it was enough.

And though Meghan wouldn't admit it, she found this pretty exciting herself. But maybe that was because she was leaving the country. On her own. For the first time in her life.

All the luggage was put on the convayor belt, where it would go through an x-ray and soon be transferred with all the other luggage onto the plane. Everyone was screened, and so was Meghan's purse, which she would be carrying on with her. Catherine then led them on a mad dash to wherever they were supposed to go. Wherever it was, Catherine knew how to get there, so they all followed without any questions.

"Hurry up!" her mom called to the three slowpokes behind her. "They're already boarding Meghan's flight!"

They all quickened their pace, and were soon all standing right near the door that led outside. Catherine presented the ticket.

"It's for her." she said, motioning for Meghan to come closer.

"Thank you, ma'am." The flight attendant said, accepting the ticket. After checking a few things, she handed the ticket to the traveling girl, along with her seat number.

"Alright, Meghan." her mother said. "I guess this is where we leave you."

"You have about ten minutes before your flight leaves, hon." The chubby woman told her sweetly. "You can all step to the side and say your goodbyes."

They did so as another family, a couple with two girls and a baby boy, stepped up.

"Okay..." Catherine said as she searched for something to say. "...You be good...be nice to the family...I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy." Meghan said. They embraced, and held each other for a long time. When they finally seperated, Catherine wiped her eyes.

"Oh, Mom, don't cry..." Meghan pleaded. She grabbed her mother's hand.

Catherine sqeezed her hand, then let go, slowly turning away.

Her aunt was next in line. She stepped up to her neice, and grabbed her hands.

"Well, this is it." She said with a half-smile. "We're going to miss you. A lot."

"I'll miss you too." Meghan said. She was starting to get a bit teary herself.

"Now, remember what you promised me - in the bedroom last month, I mean."

"Yes, I remember."

"Good. Be careful. Keep a clear head. And also - well, have a good time."

"I will, Aunt Libby."

"Be sure you do. Oh, and one more thing." she said, reaching into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a plain white envelope with no writing on it and slipped it into Meghan's purse.

"Open that...when you get on the plane." she told her.

Meghan was puzzled, but she nodded firmly. She then hugged the second of three very special people that she wouldn't be seeing for a very long time.

"Goodbye, Meghan."

"Bye. I love you." It was all she could think of to say.

Libby backed away to stand with Catherine, who was still struggling to hold back tears.

The third family member hesitated, as if she were afraid she'd start weeping if she came any closer. Meghan looked the girl straight in the eyes and smiled.

"Daphne, get over here."

The girl immediately rushed up and threw her arms around her best friend, giving in to tears as they hugged.

"I'll miss you." Daphne said.

"I'll miss you too." Meghan replied. She was now crying as well as she gently patted her cousin's back.

"Good luck."

"Thank you."

They seperated for a moment to look at each other, holding hands.

"I...I want you to e-mail me. Every day."

"I will." Meghan told her.

"And call me at least once a week."

"You too."

They smiled.

"Last call for Flight 24, London!" The attendant spoke into the microphone. "You'd better go, sweetie."

"Alright." Meghan and Daphne hugged one more time.

"Bye, Meg."

"Bye, Daphs."

After one last squeeze, Meghan slowly pulled away, still holding Daphne's right hand. She held on until she couldn't reach anymore, and then let her hand softly slip away.

The flight attendant opened the thick door, and Meghan stepped out into the hallway. She turned back to wave to her family one last time. They waved in return as the door was closed behind her.


	6. The Flight

**Well, here I am.** Sitting on a plane for London. Staring out the little window. And thinking.

There's nobody sitting next to me. I guess that seat wasn't assigned. Ahead of me there's some guy holding a mirror up and smoothing out his hair, sitting next to a bleach-blonde woman. Behind me I hear someone blowing his nose. Really loud.

The plane's fully boarded now and I hear the pilot talking to us: "This is your captain speaking." Blah blah blah. Funny how he calls himself "the captain". But I guess that's what he is.

In case you don't already know, I'm feeling pretty surreal right now. This is like something out of a daydream, and I almost feel it isn't happening at all. I was just told to fasten my seatbelt, although I had it fastened already so it didn't really matter. The plane is taking off.

I watch out that window as the asphault runway speeds faster and faster, until I feel myself being lifted off the ground. Away from the airport, the buildings...everything is getting smaller. We pass the control tower and it looks diminutive as we go higher into the sky. This is it.

I suddenly remember the envelope that Aunt Libby gave me. As much as I didn't want to take my eyes away from the window, I quickly reached into my purse, pulling out the white rectangular thing that had been placed inside only minutes before.

I'm not sure why, but I stared at it for a moment. There was nothing written on the front; it was just white and blank. This got me nowhere, but somehow I didn't need to open it to have an idea of the contents inside. I turned it over and opened the flap.

What I pulled out amazed me. My mouth dropped slightly open as my mind registered what I was holding. Five things had come out of the envelope.

The first thing, I realized with astonishment, was a copy of Daphne's birth certificate. I had never seen this before. There was my aunt's signature, right underneath where it indicated "Mother's Name". The space next to it was blank, but there were in fact two names listed in print underneath Daphne's in a space above.

In that moment, the truth really hit me, for the first time.

There were also three photographs. The first was a picture of Daphne when she was about five years old, blowing out the candles on her birthday cake. The second was her most recent school picture, the one thing I _had_ seen before - I had told her when it came out that it looked much better than mine. And then there was one more, one that made my throat tighten. A picture of my aunt, standing with a dashing-looking man I hardly recognized from television. They were smiling, and he had his arm around her.

The last thing from the envelope was a small note on plain lined notepad paper, folded in half with my name written on the outside. I opened it and read the writing inside:

_If you should ever get the chance, here's proof. You don't have to do anything if you're not up to it, but I finally realized what I've been doing is wrong. _

_You have my permission._

_-Aunt Libby_

I look out the window again, still holding the note in my hand. I see the Statue of Liberty, holding up her torch, as if to wave goodbye as we pass into the ocean. There's so much I'm leaving behind. I don't know what's ahead.

**The ocean seemed endless. **There really wasn't anything to look at out the window anymore. Sure, the ocean was beautiful, with the sun reflecting off of it and making it shine. Meghan made sure to periodically take little breaks from the book she'd brought to look at the view, taking in the sparkling waters.

But it was the same view every time.

The on-board movie was a total bust. They were showing one of the _Mission Impossible_ movies, and Meghan couldn't stand Tom Cruise.

The view out the window soon got Meghan's full attention yet again, however, when the sun began to set, spreading gorgeous colors across the sky. She leaned her head against the chair, ready to watch the show.

It was beautiful. Watching that sunset, Meghan felt a most wonderful and comforting sense of peace. Her anxious mind settled down, and she felt reassured. It was such a lovely sunset, so majestic, so peaceful, so calming...so calming...

**"This is your captain speaking."** I heard, from far away.

The noise kept going and got louder and louder. My eyes crept open, and for a few seconds I couldn't figure out where I was.

Talk about scary.

But eventually my senses came back to me, and I shifted in the seat, trying to get my bearings. I stretched as the pilot blathered on and on.

Then I was compelled to look out the window. In my drowsiness I realized the plane had landed. The sky above was dark, and a short distance away I could see the brightly-lit airport. I saw the ground, black with yellow light shining down upon it. People walked around outside, and I saw some guy driving a cart.

Inside the plane people were gathering their things and filing out. I felt a sense of urgency to move and sat up, rubbing my face. I wasn't fully awake. Grabbing my purse, I shook myself, trying to turn on the switch in my mind.

In my rush, I dropped a bunch of stuff on the ground. I bent down and picked up my book, as well as the white envelope, which I realized I'd forgotten to put in my purse.

As disoriented as I was, I knew I had to guard that thing with my life. I buried it deep in my purse.

Tucking my book in as well, I hurriedly stood up. I looked behind me, to make sure I hadn't left anything in the chair. It was empty. I then dropped to the floor and felt around to make sure nothing else was left down there that I missed. I felt nothing.

Getting back to my feet, I slung my purse over my shoulder and slowly began to follow the line of people crowding out. It was a little hard to keep my balance. All around me, other people looked sleepy, too. I heard the guy behind me blow his nose again.

That'll help you wake up.

Slowly I was making my way to the door, as if in one of those waltzes they're always playing at the senior center, where Grandpa Reynolds lives. I could almost hear the bingo numbers being called out in the background: "I15, G38, B4...". I think of the last time we had visited him, about a week ago, actually. He was telling us about Delila, an old lady who has the hots for him. He told us about how she likes to knit in the room where he plays checkers with Bernie, and how every once in a while he'll look in her direction, and she'll look up from the toaster warmer she's making and gave him a flirty little wave.

He says it's really starting to bother him, especially since she's always wearing these creepy little bunny slippers, one of which is missing an eye. They freak him out.

But now I didn't hear any bingo numbers. Just some kid crying in the back, along with the relentless nose-blowing.

When I got to the front, I was hit with a cool breeze. Clutching the strap of my big brown purse, I followed the rest of the crowd as the started down the steps toward the ground. I wasn't cold, but I was a bit taken aback by the sudden gusts of fresh air I was feeling after having sat in an airtight plane for about eight hours.

The breeze carried my hair up a little bit, and I felt refreshed. Though I was pretty fatigued, it felt good to get outside. I couldn't shake the feeling of still being back in New York; it didn't seem like I'd gone anywhere. It was as if I'd just gotten in the plane to take a long nap, and then woken up to go home.

But this sure wasn't home.

The crowd spread out as we stepped down from the stairs. I was thankful to be able to put a decent amount of space between me and the nose-blower. I hoped I wouldn't get sick. I wondered if maybe those dumb shots I'd had to take before leaving would have any effect on that.

Probably not.

We crossed the asphault and once again were crowded as we entered the huge building and coursed through a hallway. Then we emerged into the bustling place. Here it was, Heathrow International Airport, pretty much the largest airport in the world. Other than the rushing of people, nothing was familiar. I suddenly felt very alone.

I remembered what I was supposed to do next: look for the family. The host family, whom I would be staying with. They were then going to help with my luggage and drive me to where they lived.

I thought of how my mom had spoken with them on the phone to make the arrangements. They hadn't given her too much of a discription of how they looked. I just know there's a mom, a dad, an older boy, a girl about my age, and a little boy.

My mom, however, had given them a very detailed discription of how I looked. I didn't think they'd need it, though - I was pretty much self-explanatory. I mean, being a lone, confused teenage girl wearing flare jeans, a denim jacket, and a shirt that said "I Heart NY" on the front.

I heard voices calling out over the intercom what flights had just arrived and what flights were leaving. I hoped that the group I was supposed to be looking for had heard my flight when it was announced. I smiled. Everyone around me sounded funny. It was like I'd stepped into one of those shows I always watch on BBC.

I wandered through the immense clusters of people, worried I'd never find what I was looking for. What if I got lost, and they had to send security guards around to look for me? A part of me was beginning to think I wasn't mature enough for this trip. Maybe Mom and Aunt Libby had been mistaken...

I suddenly heard a sharp, loud whistle.

"Over here!"

I looked in the direction of the yell. There I saw an excited blonde girl, frantically waving her arms. She beamed when she saw me look and motioned me forward. I smiled with relief as I began to walk toward her.

It was then that I noticed the people behind her. Standing there was a couple: A tall, handsome man with yellow hair like the girl's, his arm laced around a serene-faced woman with firy red curls piling onto her shoulders - both of them were smiling. The woman gripped the handles of a stroller, where a sweet little red-haired boy slept peacefully. Next to them stood a blonde teenager almost as tall as his father. He wore a huge grin as he held up a sign with the words _Welcome Yank _scrawled across it.

I loved it here already.

When I reached the excited girl, I extended my hand and began my greeting and introduction. "Hi." I said, smiling. "I'm -"

"Meghan." The girl immediately finished for me, grabbing my hand to shake and giving me the widest grin possible. "I'm Faye. Welcome to London."

**Well, there you go. I went pretty deep with Chapter 5, and it's also the longest chapter so far. By now you're probably starting to get an idea of the plot, and you may be wondering some other things too. Like what's going on with Catherine... **

**The next two chapters will be up soon! Read them, or I'll sic Delila on you!**

**Bye for now**

**-rf-**


	7. The Winthrops

**Well, here are the next two chapters! I'm not sure that I wrote them that well, but whatever.**

**Thanks SO MUCH to the people who've reviewed! I'm so glad that someone likes my story! Before I get on with the chapter, I'd like to give some personal thanks:**

**Allosaurous:You really think mine's the best? Thank you!! And you'll be happy to know that I've already recieved my ABWI (anti block writing immunization) lol**

**peaches500: I'm so glad that you loved it! Believe me, I will keep going. By the way, I love peaches. They're sweet. :)**

**cassiopoeia: Wow. You think my story's good without having even seen the movie? That's a huge honor, THANK YOU!! And I'm glad you think the dialogues are realistic, I try! Don't worry about bad things, you won't see a lot of them in my story. I like to stay happy at all costs lol. And keep working on _The Refugee_, it's really good and funny too:)**

**Friendlyfangirl: Just a quick shout-out to you for being the first to give imput! You rock!**

Meghan was flattered. Based on the hearty welcome, she surmised that her arrival had been long anticipated and looked forward to.

The very happy blonde girl, who'd just identified herself as "Faye", vigorously shook her hand as the rest of her lovely family stepped up. She then let go and sauntered a little to the side as her father took her place.

"Are you Meghan Reynolds?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Hello, and welcome again. My name is Laurence Winthrop, and this is my wife, Emma."

"Pleasure to meet you, dearie."

Meghan kept smiling as she noticed another new accent.

"She's Irish, by the way." the man told her with a smile, as if he'd known what she was thinking. He then motioned for the second tallest to come nearer. "This fellow's name is Anthony."

"Hello." he said breifly, with a look of boredom as he, too, shook Meghan's hand.

"And this little guy in the stroller - " Laurence said with pride, gently patting the head of the sleeping child, "- his name is Jacob."

"Hi, Jacob." Meghan said in a soft, sweet voice, giving him a little wave.

"We're very happy to have you - especially my daughter Faye over there." The man said, looking to the overly-excited young woman who could barely stand still. Then he chuckled. "Actually, it was her idea that we take in an exchange student in the first place."

"Well, I'm very happy to be here." Meghan responded. "And thank you very much for having me."

The man looked impressed. "Aren't you polite!" He looked to his wife. "Darling, we'll have to tell old Johnson down the road that we've found a genuine, well-mannered American teenager! Johnson, that bugger. Thinks he knows everything. If you ask me, he spends too much time down at the pub - "

His wife stopped him, gesturing toward Meghan.

"Oh, yes, terribly sorry. Well, come on then, let's get your bags. You must be very exhausted. We'll get you to a bed right soon."

The couple and the stroller began to move, with the tall boy following behind. Meghan started to go with them, but someone grabbed her arm. She looked back.

"Let's walk behind them, so we can talk." The jumpy girl said. And so they did.

Faye was a bit taller than Meghan, with her hair done in two braids that just barely touched her shoulders. She wasn't chubby, but wasn't skinny either. Her face glowed as she spoke with the foriegn girl she hoped to become good friends with. Meghan hoped the same thing - after all, they'd be living together.

"Did you have a good flight?" she asked.

"Oh - yeah, I mean, yes, I did. Actually, I kind of fell asleep. But it was fine. Thank you for asking."

Faye giggled. "Do you always talk like that?"

"Um...no." Meghan answered.

"I thought not."

There was a pause.

"Well," Meghan offered, "I can talk like I usually do, but you might not like it. I can be very obnoxious when I really get going. I mean I can just blather on and on and on without knowing when to stop. And then I get really loud - "

"Don't worry about it. You don't seem very obnoxious to me."

"Ha - give it time."

The two girls followed the couple and boys right up to the moving baggage.

"There they are." Meghan said, pointing to the ugly floral rolling case, the giant duffel bag, and the two old clunky suitcases as they slowly moved along the belt behind a giant cardboard box and a tied-up sleeping bag.

The group immediately commenced to grabbing the the bulky objects. Meghan started to grab the rolling case, but was efforts were quickly intercepted by her companion.

"Now don't you take that. That's my job. You're our guest." she firmly stated.

The special treatment was beginning to make Meghan feel a bit uneasy. She was used to doing things herself. If not for the fact that she was slightly zoned out due to exhaustion, she would've felt even more uneasy. But she let the case go.

Empty handed save for her giant brown purse, she once again followed behind the red-haired woman pushing a stroller, the tall man carrying two cumbersome suitcases, and the teenage boy hefting the duffel bag over his shoulder as if it were nothing.

Faye still preferred to walk next to her, dragging the wheeled floral carrier behind. She wasted no time in asking more questions.

"What city do you live in?"

"Chinatown."

"Where is that?"

"In New York."

"Is Chinatown like China?"

"Yes, only much smaller."

"Do you like living there?"

"Sure. It's very cultural."

"Is it like New York City, or is it a little town?"

"Oh, it's a city. Believe me. Chinatown is really more like an annex of an even _larger_ city."

"I believe you."

The group was now walking outside, into the parking lot. The man talked endlessly to his wife, and the older boy marched behind them with a blank look on his face.

"Do you think you will like it here?" Faye questioned some more.

"I think I will."

"Well, if you like the city, you will like it here. Do you like shopping?"

"Oh, yes."

"Good. Becuase my mother and I are going to take you, after school on Monday. We're taking you sightseeing, too. We'd go tomarrow, but she's busy then and besides, you'll probably still be very tired. We're going to miss church this week so that we can get you settled in. You'll go with us next week. Tomarrow we'll get a better chance to get to know each other. Well, today, actually."

"Today?"

"Yes, considering it's about 1o'clock in the morning."

Meghan was shocked. She truly had lost her sense of time.

"Wow."

Faye didn't really notice Meghan's surprise.

"You'll be staying with me in my room. Won't that be lovely?"

"Oh, yes, very lovely indeed."

The girl looked at Meghan with a questioning look. Then she smirked.

"You're very funny."

"Well, I try."

They arrived at a large black station wagon, where the man proceeded tto open the trunk and load in the luggage. After Faye dispensed the rolling case to her father, she opened the car door and motioned for the traveller to climb inside. She climbed in after her, followed by her elder brother. Her mother climbed in on the left in front, father on the right. Little Jacob, now awake but astonishingly quiet, sat in his mother's lap.

"We don't usually put Jacob in the front like that," Faye laughed, "but there's nowhere else to put him!"

Meghan prayed against the airbags.

Mr. Winthrop promptly started the car. They were off to Meghan's new home.

**I was sleepy.** Very sleepy. But I was still awake.

And it was a good thing, too, because London at night is just beautiful. I wasn't sure if it was five minutes or an hour that passed, but soon we were passing by the huge parliament building, and then I saw the giant clock named Ben. From these things shown beautful light. I checked the time. It really was past one o'clock.

And that certainly wasn't the only light I saw. Everything was lit, and there was surprisingly a good deal of traffic, even at this late hour. If Paris is called the city of lights, then it must really be blinding to outdo London. Like New York, it's a city that never sleeps.

Like I've said before, I usually don't really get tired until late at night. Usually right around that time I'm just beginning to feel drowsy. But this time was different. I was jet-lagged, disoriented, and completely thrown off.

And yet, I was still so full of bliss. I knew I'd get plenty of chances to see the sights, but I didn't care. I took in as much as I could right then and there, on the way to the Winthrop residence. And it was dazzling me.

Already this place gave me the grandest feeling. Like I'd been whisked off to Neverland - and I don't mean Micheal Jackson's house. This was supposed to be the city Wendy left to get to a magical world, but I found this world magical enough itself. I knew already - I was going to like it here. A lot.

The girl, Faye, must have seen the stars in my eyes, because her talking was brought down to a minimum.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

I nodded.

All too soon we came to a stop in front of an old, two-story brick cottage. I was too drowsy to observe very much, but I saw that the yard in front of the cottage was very small, and was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. The proud man who'd driven us looked to the back seat. "Here we are. Our home." he said.

Faye's brother stepped out first, her second, me third. It hadn't been too long of a car ride, but I stretched just the same.

Once again, nobody allowed me to even _touch_ any of my bags. They all insisted on carrying them for me. Mr. Winthrop led the way through the little gate and up the pathway to the front door, followed by his wife and little boy, his oldest, and the girl who still acted as if she'd just poured a bag of sugar down her throat and had washed it down with a few bottles of Powerade.

As I trailed behind them, I took in a deep breath of fresh night air. Even that seemed different to me.

The man opened the door and we all followed him in. I was too tired to really bother looking around inside, and all I really cared about at that point was that somewhere in this house there was an open bed.

I saw them making three of them making their way up the stairs, while the fire-haired woman and her little son went into the kitchen. I immediately followed upwards.

"You're going to like my room." Faye chirped. "The walls are pink!"

"Oh, yay, I like pink." I sleepily replied. As you can tell, I was beginning to lose it.

Sure enough, when we got to the room I'd been designated to sleep in and a light was flipped on, I saw pink. And not just on the walls, either. _Everything_ was pink.

My bags were set at the foot of a wooden twin bed with pink blankets on it. Right next to it sat a white nightstand with pink flowers painted on it. On the other side of the room, I saw a little canopy bed, all decked out in pink ruffles. Another nightstand sat next to that. It was painted just like the first.

I looked to the floor. It was dark wood, with a white rug little pink roses all over it. As I looked more, I saw that there were roses _everywhere_ - in vases on the nightstands, printed on the wallpaper border, tied on the posts of the canopy bed. Where there weren't roses, there were teddy bears and china dolls, gobs of them. They sat in a row on a long shelf gracing one of the walls. On Faye's nightstand, there sat next to the vase a rosy-cheeked doll with a white bonnet wearing what else: a pink dress. On mine sat a small brown teddy bear.

Okay, I know I said I was too tired to take in my surroundings before, but - geez! This much girly pink stuff was _impossble _to overlook! It was more fluff than I'd ever seen in my life. But hey, I was willing to sleep anywhere by then. Even on the dining room table. Just somewhere.

"Um, thanks for carrying my bags." I told them. I was told in return to think nothing of it. C'mon! Isn't there a such thing as _too much_ hospitality?


	8. The Happy Home

**"Well, here you are."** Meghan's host-parent said as he lowered to clunky suitcases to the floor. "Welcome to your room."

Anthony, who'd pretty much been as silent as his napping little brother the whole time, immediately swung the duffel off his shoulder and dropped it to the floor with a thud. He then made a quick exit as his father went on talking. As many teenage boys do, Anthony only had one thing on his mind: food. More specifically, the roast turkey downstairs in the refrigerator.

"I imagine you'll want to be getting into bed straight away. Don't bother changing tonight. You'll unpack tomarrow. Go ahead and sleep in your clothes. If you're hungry, we've got turkey downstairs. Would you like us to warm some up for you?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I ate on the plane."

"Right, wonderful. Well, you can go on to bed then. Faye will be doing the same in a few minutes."

Meghan was relieved not to have to dig through her bags for her pajamas. As the others started out of the room, she suddenly remembered something she'd been instructed to do.

"May I call my family?" she asked. "I mean, to let them know I made it?"

Mr. Winthrop stopped. "Oh - most certainly."

And so, Meghan found herself on the phone back downstairs, struggling to hold her eyes open. She spoke to the operator.

"I need to make a collect call to the U.S., please."

Soon enough she heard a familiar voice on the line.

"Reynold's residence."

"Mom?"

"Meghan!"

Catherine's voice was crackly, but Meghan was, all the same, happy to hear it.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Did you make it there alright? We miss you already."

"Yes I did, and I miss you guys too."

How true that was. How very true.

"How are you doing? Did the flight wear you down?"

"I'm tired, but otherwise I'm fine." Meghan replied. "Um, what time is it?"

"Here? Oh, about 8 o'clock."

Again the traveller was shocked.

"8 o'clock! That's crazy! Do you even _know_ how late it is here?"

Catherine gave a knowing chuckle.

"No. How late is it, Meghan?" she said teasingly.

"It's 1am! _1am!_ Do you believe that?"

"No, I don't. I guess you're living in the future then, am I right?"

Meghan was beginning to feel not only tired, but ridiculous.

"Well, anyway, just wanted to let you know that I..."

She heard someone talking in the crackly background.

"Yeah, it's her. Hol - hold on." she heard her mom say, away from the phone. She came back on again. "Wanna talk to your aunt?" she asked.

"Oh - sure."

Meghan began to feel a bit nervous and awkward as her mind touched on a certain object in her purse. She readied herself.

"Meg? Is that you?"

She took a deep breath.

"Yes, it's me, Aunt Libby."

"Hey! Did you make it?"

"Sure did."

"Good. They treating you well?"

"Of course. Too well, actually."

Meghan glanced into the kitchen a few feet away, where Anthony hungrily sliced a slab of the turkey she'd been offered a portion of.

Her aunt laughed.

"Oh, well, I'd expect that. So, you ready to come home yet?"

"Not even! I'm just ready to go to bed."

"You sound like it."

Meghan leaned against the wall.

"Well, anyway, I can't talk long - is Daphne there?"

"Uh, sorry honey. She's in the shower. I'll have her call you tomarrow."

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"Meghan...you did get my... "

"Yeah, I did."

Another pause. Meghan wasn't quite sure what to say. She searched her mind for words.

"Aunt Libby?"

"Mmmm?"

The weary girl gave the best words she could come up with, packing them with meaning and sending them across the Atlantic.

"Thank you."

**By the time talkative Faye went to bed, she had no one to talk to.** I was already long gone.

I hadn't even bothered to turn down the covers. I'd fallen asleep right on top of them, with my denim jacket hanging over the footboard.

I woke up in Foofy Pink Land at about 10am. Faye was tugging on her ruffly pink quilt, making her bed. I drowsily raised my head as she moved to arrange about a truckload of ruffled and tufted accent pillows in the shapes of hearts and circles.

"Oh, good! You're awake!" she chimed happily.

Propping myself up on my elbow, I brushed hair out of my face. I watched her through foggy eyes.

"Mother's making special breakfast downstairs. You're going to _adore_ her hash..."

Faye's nightgown moved back and forth as she skittered around the bed. Her slippers flip-flopped against the floor. While she talked, I noticed some beautiful white shears flowing in the breeze that blew in through a slightly open window. The sun shone brightly through, making the pink room look luminous and calm.

I was watching the dancing fabric when suddenly there came a huge thump on my bed. I snapped up with a start to see a big orange tabby next to my leg.

"Oh! Well, hi there."

Faye laughed.

"His name is Benjamin." she told me before I could ask. "Benny for short. I think he rather likes you."

The cat plopped down and gave me a hard stare, as if in examination.

"He sure is big." I commented.

"That's because he eats everything in sight." Faye explained. "And Anthony seems to quite enjoy sneaking him table scraps, which isn't any help." A look of disdain fell over her face.

I was now completely sitting up. I gently reached out to stroke Benny's head with apprehension. He gave me a wary look, but allowed me to touch.

Faye finished arranging pillows and sat on her bed. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Hmmm...did I sleep well...I think I did. I mean, the last thing I remember is falling into this bed, so I obviously slept through the night. And...I guess I feel pretty refreshed, seeing as I can now peice together marginally coherant speech."

Faye smiled wider.

"Very glad to hear that. You're going to want to be awake - there's a lot in store for you. Today, we're just getting you settled in, but tomarrow! What with the first day of school _and_ shopping - oh, it'll be just brilliant! There's this store Mum and I love to go to, it carries the most _sublime_ handbags! Oh, we're going to have the most wonderful time..."

I stood up and walked over to the sunny window, brushing more hair out of my eyes and behind my ears. As Faye went on talking, I pulled back the shears and looked outside.

There view was very charming - not spectacular, but charming. In other words, just how I would want it. Behind the Winthrop house was a short fence, and on the other side of the fence I could see a small, grassy park. I didn't see any jungle gyms in this park, just walking paths, picnic table, and benches. But it was beautiful. Beautiful and green.

The fence was wooden, and surrounded the entire back area of the house. I looked down and observed a grouping of lovely, well-kept potted plants. Also, I saw an outdoor table with chairs, near a barbecue grill. It looked much like our neighbor's roof back in New York, where we were often invited to join them for hamburgers. Mr. Therman, our neighbor and the cook, always made the best hamburgers; he beat McDonald's by a landslide.

As I gazed out of the window, the sun warmed my face. The air was fresh and crisp as I took it in. As I watched an old lady walking her scottie dog in the park, Faye came up to stand beside me. She placed her hands on the windowsill.

"Isn't it a lovely park? I think so. We'll have to go there one day while you're here. Oh - did you see the lilies? They're quite gorgeous."

"Yes, they're very nice." I told her. Though I was glad to be so warmly welcomed by Faye into her room, she seemed a bit, well, _perky_ to me. And usually, extremely perky people get tired of me pretty fast. I get along better with goofy people that look at life with quiet humor and optimism. Although, my cousin's pretty perky at times...I guess it depends on the person. I stared out the window at some trees at the other end of the park.

We heard somone calling from down in the kitchen.

"Breakfast's on the table!" I heard Faye's mother call in her lovely celtic dialect.

"Come on. Let's go down to eat. You're going to like this, my mother's an excellent cook."

I could tell that Faye wasn't lying, for I could already smell something scrumptious. I turned away from the pretty window and followed my roomate, straightening out my rumpled NY t-shirt.

We gingerly stepped down the stairs. As we passed into the kitchen, I glanced into the living room...or parlor...or den...or whatever, and I saw in there an old, chubby man with large glasses. He muttered to himself as he watched some weird sport on TV.

"Uh...who's that?" I whispered to Faye as we walked.

"Oh, that's my great uncle Wallace. He can be a rather cantankerous fellow sometimes. Most of the time he just likes to sit in that room and watch cricket matches. He often yells at the television and throws crackers when someone he likes is losing." she said with a laugh.

Intriguing.

When we got into to the kitchen I saw the adjacent dining room with vibrant red walls. At the table sat Mr. Winthrop and Anthony, as well as Jacob in a high chair. Jacob was giggling sweetly as he banged a plastic bowl. As we got there, he dropped it on the floor and looked over the edge of his chair with confusion. I bent to pick it up for him, and he gave me a playful little smile.

As I gave the bowl back to him, Mrs. Winthrop walked over, holding a huge tray of food. It looked delicious.

"Delighted to see that you're up, Meghan." she said, beaming. I sat down with Faye grinning next to me. I was more than ready to eat.

**Hope you all liked that! What do you think of the host family? I put _tons_ of thought into their personalities.**

**Next ones up soon! Bye until next time**

**-rf-**

**WARNING!!!!!: As of Tuesday, February 20th, 2007, I will be changing the title of this story from _Best Friend _to _Never Too Late_, as the current title is lame and only the best I could come up with at the time when I first posted my story. I hope this title is better, but no big deal if it isn't. Hope you guys keep reading no matter what, because that's what is _really_ important. :)**


	9. The Album

**Hello! Sorry I took longer than usual to post this time - hopefully this will be worth your wait. Thanks to peaches500 for reviewing, you're awesome:) **

**I should say first that this will be one of the few times I will post only one chapter. I'd planned on posting the usual two, but I've been poking along in writing them, and the next one's still unwritten. So, since I figured you'd waited long enough already, I decided to go ahead and post this one. Plus, it's the longest one so far, and it's also pretty deep. It touches on someone I've until now completely left out.**

**I must warn you that this chapter does not end very nicely. But PLEASE don't think I've betrayed you - I'm still an optimist (as implied in my profile). The next two chapters will be brighter. :) **

Meghan followed the other girl up the stairs. The breakfast had been delicious, and now she was going to change clothes for the day. However, Faye insisted, not before she was to get an extensive tour of the house that she'd been too tired to recieve the night before.

She had already been shown around downstairs, where she saw a very elegant sitting room, painted a sage color with cream chair-railing around the walls. The furniture in that room was traditional, but did not look old. Meghan thought the room was very sophisticated, and a good place to read a book.

The kitchen walls were a spicy bright orange color. It went well with the vibrance of the deep red dining room, and it was a very fitting color for cooking.

Now she pushed herself up each stair, trailing after Faye.

"Up here is the bog - I mean, bathroom, and my two brothers' rooms, and the master bedroom. I imagine you're not too interested in seeing Anthony's room..."

Just as Faye uttered those words, the door to a room down the hall went abruptly shut. Apparently, someone had beaten them up the stairs, and wanted to convey a _clear_ message that his room was off limits.

Faye made a face while Meghan stood in confusion.

"Right, just as I thought. Don't worry about him, he's nothing but a wanker."

The tour guide led Meghan further down the hall.

"I'll show you the bathroom. It's very pretty. Mother and I decorated it one day, and oh, we had so much fun! The wallpaper in there is just gorgeous, you'll really like it. And we found the loveliest little soap dish in a china shop just down the road..."

Meghan let Faye go on and on, while she checked for herself. It really was a rather charming little bathroom. It was decorated in light blues, with a navy paisley design on the walls and a periwinkle diamond pattern on the shower curtain. She looked at mentioned soap dish, and agreed with Faye that it was indeed quite lovely. It was white, with a sweet little china goose in a blue bonnet perched on the edge. In it sat dainty little molded soaps in the same blue color, each one shaped like flowers.

Meghan nodded as Faye rambled on. She was led into yet another room.

"This is Jacob's room."

This room looked every bit like a kid's room, and Meghan grinned. There was an obvious theme: fire trucks. There was a fire truck mural on the wall, a fire truck bedspread, and toy fire trucks all over the floor. Even the bed itself was shaped like a fire truck. Though Meghan was sure she'd gone fire truck crazy, the room was still very sweet.

"Dad made that bed for him." Faye said.

Through the ramblings, Meghan heard that remark. She gazed lovingly at the carefully crafted wooden bed that was painted red, black, and yellow. What a wonderful piece of furniture that was.

The tour at its end, Faye turned back and walked toward her bedroom.

"Do you think you'll remember where everything is?" she asked with a chuckle.

"I probably will. Hopefully, I won't get lost." Meghan answered.

Faye laughed as she opened her closet.

"You can change in the bathroom." she said. "And then I'll help you unpack."

Meghan flipped open a suitcase.

About fifteen minutes later, she came out of the bathroom, her hair in a messy bun. She sported a bright blue peasant top, along with faded denim flares.

Faye was also dressed, in (what else) pink. She wore a pink and white striped tank top with a rose-colored skirt. Even her flip-flop sandals were pink. As for her hair, it was done in the same two braids as before.

Three drawers were open on a very large dresser.

"You can use these drawers for some of your things." she said. "The rest you can put in there." She pointed to the closet.

Meghan was happy with that plan. She started to put some socks in one of the drawers when Faye cried out in excitement. Meghan jumped.

"Look! Oh, my, isn't he adorable?"

Frazzled, she looked where Faye was pointing.

There sat Benny, the fat orange cat, right in the suitcase, on top of the rest of her socks.

**Seeing as above mentioned housecat had taken residence** in also above mentioned clunky old suitcase, I was forced to move on to another peice of luggage while Faye struggled to contain her overjoyed thrill.

This case held the miscellaneous things I'd packed for pleasure and to remind me of New York and all that jazz. I decided that this stuff would go in the second drawer, and possibly the third drawer, if there wasn't enough room in the second drawer. I withdrew some CDs along with a CD player to play them on, last year's yearbook that I'd brought to show off, my favorite novels, and so on. I also put in the drawer my spending money (which still had yet to be converted into the appropriate currency), and some informational guides, such as _The Tourist's Guide to London, English Etiquette for Dummies, How to Keep from Unknowingly Making Offensive Actions and Ticking People Off In Any Country, _and_ The Complete Dictionary of British Slang Terms. _I made a mental note to look up the term _wanker_.

Though I was pretty sure I knew what it meant.

I continued to place things into the drawer. Faye had finally been able to calm down, and was now helping me transfer the objects. Of course, she was brimming with curiosity. As I placed in a handheld Blackjack game, she spoke up behind me.

"What's this?" she asked.

I looked to see her holding up a thick little blue book.

"Oh, that's a photo album. You can look at it if you want -"

Faye was already sitting down with the book open. I smiled and went on unpacking.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "You look so much like like your mum."

"Huh?" I walked over and sat down next to her. The album was opened to two pictures side by side, from my 15th birthday party. Faye was pointing at a blonde woman who had her arm around me in the picture on the right. I laughed.

"That's not my mom. That's my aunt. Her name's Elizabeth. Everyone calls her Libby, though." I pointed at Mom's face in a picture of all four of us on the opposite side. "_That's_ my mom."

"Really? Well, you do have her hair."

That was true, I did have my mom's hair. And I guess it's true that I look like Aunt Libby - believe it or not, people say that all the time.

My hair is, like, a super dark brown, almost black even. It's really wavy - not curly, but wavy - almost like it's been permanantly crimped. It's a different color than Daphne's - hers is more of a chestnut. I'm also about half a head shorter than Daphne, because my mom's very petite. And like Mom, I have hazel eyes. Aunt Libby has blue eyes, Daphne has brown.

Other than that, there aren't many physical traits I inherited from my mom, and people are always mistaking me for being Aunt Libby's daughter. They say that we have about the exact same facial structure, except that my eyes are bigger and my jaw's more defined and junk.

"Who is that?" Faye questioned, pointing to a laughing girl who sat on one side of me in the left picture, smearing chocolate cake on my face. My mom sat on my other side.

"That's Daphne. She's my cousin."

"She looks very lovely."

Also true. Daphne looked lovely, in her own unique little goofy way. In that picture she was wearing some very frayed denim flare jeans that were torn in places, a long, flowy black top, and a fuzzy orange sweater we found at the thrift shop next to Crazy Wong's TV Emporium. That was her style, sort of hippie-rocker-anything goes. Her mom's like that too, only more hippie and less rocker and a lot more skirts. The long and flowy kind, of course.

Me - I pretty much like any style, as long as it isn't depressing and morbid. Like this one girl Myra at our school (her real name is Katelyn, but she won't let anyone call her that on account of it being too "happy"), she wears nothing but black, all the time, complimented by skull patterns and these fake fangs she had put in her mouth. I could never do that. I mostly prefer to dress in nice colors that are bright but not over the top or flashy. I'm a bit more girly then Daphne, but I'm certainly no Britney Spears. She and Louis Vuitton and all those losers can go bite some twigs.

And Mom? Her style is actually pretty chic and sophisticated. She's a lot more into fashion than I am, but in a refined and tasteful sort of way. Like she actually knows what she's doing when she coordinates an outfit.

Faye turned the page.

"Who are they?" she asked. I looked at the picture, where she pointed at two people - a man and a woman, who were gracefully aged but full of vigor, and really looked about ten years younger than they actually were. The woman was plump but not fat, standing in a light pink jogging suit with her grey-streaked auburn hair flowing in the breeze. The man also grinned, with perfectly combed over white hair on his head. He was fully decked out in a yellow and khaki golf outfit.

"They're my Nanna and Grampa Shore." I told her. "They adopted my mom, when she was five."

Don't bother asking me anything about that, because I wouldn't know (another thing my mom really prefers not to go into). I just know that with me and my grandparents Shore, it's a love-is-thicker-than-blood kind of relationship, which works more than perfectly.

And let me tell you, they're pretty hip grandparents. They're extremely active. They went skydiving just two months ago, and bungee-jumping a year before that. And they ride their bikes together every day. They're environmentalists, too. A recent purchase they made happened to be a hybrid car, and they've got solar panels on their roof.

Patricia Shore (Nanna) is also a huge fashionista (or at least thinks she is), and somehow has a certain way of attaining new stuff from Prada, Dior, Juicy, Dooney & Bourke, and others before it even hits the market. Don't ask me how that is, either. I mean, even Grampa (his name is Russ, by the way) has no idea where she gets it all. The only thing he really cares about is that it's coming out of her pocket, not his.

And if you ask me, I don't think she has to pay as much, either.

Faye kept turning pages, and I explained more pictures of my family, as well as some of my friends. She saw a picture I took of Mom one night in a green facial mask, one of Aunt Libby singing at my math teacher's wedding, one of me & Daphne in one of those teacups at Disneyland. As she turned to one of us all trying on kimonos, she laughed another joyful laugh.

"Your family is very silly, isn't it?"

I smiled.

"That's an understatement. We went bowling in those kimonos."

That made her laugh even more, and I did so along with her.

For a long while, Benny watched us from his position inside my suitcase, while the other case and the two open drawers remained doormant and untouched. I told the bowling story and more, spilling out long tales with each picture to this girl I barely knew. The photos certainly weren't in chronological order - it went from Daphne and I at age seven running through sprinklers to us picking flowers at age three to us at our junior high graduation. Each time Nanna popped up, she had a different hairstyle; she changes her hair a lot. Nanna's morphing hair always makes me laugh, and it made Faye laugh, too.

More and more, it seemed like either Faye was coming more down to Earth, or I was getting more perky, because looking at those pictures took away the awkwardness I'd felt between us before. I found myself no longer talking in my dry, polite way as before, but now talking as I always did in New York , however rambling or obnoxious it was. And Faye certainly noticed. She asked more questions, questions I was now more interested in answering.

"So you live in an _art studio?_" she asked me.

"It _used_ to be an art studio. Not anymore though. But there still some old paint splatters on the walls. We could paint over them, but we actually think they're kind of cool. They have sort of a history, so we've kept them the same."

"Your aunt can sing?"

"Oh, yes. She has the best voice in the world."

"Your grandparents _skydive?_"

"They sure do. _And_ they cliffdive."

"You have chinese lanterns in your bedroom?"

"Mmm-hmm. Mrs. Chang gave them to Daphne and I for free, because there are tears in the back. But we put Scotch tape on them, so now they're okay."

With every discription, Faye became more intrigued. She told me stories, too, about how her dad met her mom in Ireland, how Jacob had almost been born in an elevator, how her uncle Wallace had once been chased by a pack of weasels and they'd caught the whole thing on film. When we were done with this album, she told me, we would look at one of hers.

I was still laughing about the weasels when Faye asked another question.

"Who's this?"

I looked at the picture, a picture that had been taken at a portrait studio. There were three people in the picture. The first was a beaming brown-haired woman in a white sweater, eyes sparkling. One of her hands rested on the shoulder of the second person, a little girl with the same wavy brown hair pouring down to her elbows, a tooth missing in her joyful smile. She sat in a powder blue dress, with a silver heart locket around her neck.

The third person, the one Faye was pointing to, was a handsome man with golden hair and the most warm, gentle, loving kind of grin you could ever see. The US Army uniform he proudly wore was clean and crisp, and a bright band of gold gleamed on the ring finger of his left hand. That strong hand rested on the little girl's other shoulder, and the man's eyes shown with compassion for two people he loved very much.

I found myself twisting my eyes away, facing another direction, reaching up to finger a smooth, silver object that rested on my chest. I felt my throat compress, lock up my voice...I had to remind myself to breathe. I knew that the kind person next to me was waiting for me to respond. I knew also that the same kind person that sat next to me would become nervous if I didn't respond. So I made myself take in enough air to free my throat, make me regain my senses, my calmness, my control. And then I told her.

"His name is Aaron." I breathed. "My father."

**Well, sorry about the damper. But believe me - it's not what you might expect! ;)**

**Next two will be up soon, if I can get my dead lazy back end up to write them lol**

**Peace out**

**-rf-**


	10. The Academy

**Finally! The next two chapters are up! It's about time, huh?**

**Now, we finally get to see Meghan go to school. And to say the least, she meets some very interesting people. Chapter 11's a little short, but...I think you'll still find it interesting. So here you are, read on :)**

**Oh, and when you're done, please (I can't stress this enough) review, review, _review!_ It'll encourage me to write more and update more often! PLEASE!!!!! **

A girl stood staring, with traffic bustling behind her. A knee-length navy and red plaid skirt moved slightly against her leg in the breeze. Her feet wore polished black shoes with buckles. On top, the girl was clad in a crisp, ironed white collared shirt with black buttons. Over that was an even more crisp navy jacket, with a very prestigious-looking crest in gold embroidery on it, near the girl's right shoulder. She softly brushed off her left shoulder, glancing at the image on that side - a patch. An American flag.

The girl was Meghan, and she was staring at a building. The Jasperstone Academy for Girls. The name was fitting, for the building was certainly made of stone. Grey stone.

Meghan was actually staring from just inside an iron gate, at the school that looked like a palace. She was completely in awe.

_All this...for an essay?_ She thought.

In a few seconds another girl came up beside her, adjusting a black shoulder bag, which Meghan also had. It had on it the same crest as was gold embroidered on the jacket, only on the bag it was larger and screen-printed instead of embroidered. With the bag resting against her waist, Faye looked to her friend.

"Are you ready, Meghan?"

Meghan looked back at the teenager who was dressed exactly like her, save for the flag patch. The left side of Faye's jacket was blank.

"Ready as I'll ever get." she replied.

And so they began to walk forward. Meghan resisted the urge to roll down her knee-high white stockings as she took in what surrounded her.

Everywhere, girls dressed just like them were walking about. Some of them were in groups, laughing and talking. Some of them were rushing around by themselves, clutching schoolbooks. But they all seemed to be there for a common purpose. And even though Meghan looked exactly the same as they did, she still felt like she stuck out. Nervous, she stood up straighter as she walked.

At least Faye was there. How lucky that she, too, attended this school. Only, she had attended it for three years - this would be her fourth, and final.

"Jasperstone is a private school...right?" Meghan had asked her the night before.

"Yes, even though all schools here have uniforms, even public schools." Faye had answered. "But not everyone can go to Jasperstone Academy."

"Well, who can?" Meghan asked.

"You have to be able to afford it, or to be smart enough to deserve to have someone else pay your way." Faye said this with a bit of a proud smile on her face.

And then she had explained it further. She said that the student populous of this school could be divided into about three parts.

Half of the students there were just plain rich, and could afford to pay the tuition - either that, or their parents were terrified of the public school system, and both worked more than one job to get the money needed to keep their children out of it, but that was very seldom for this school.

Then there was another three eighths who were also rich, but rich because they were children of politicians and nobles, or of members of parliament. These "future debs", as Faye called them, were typically bigger snobs than the just-plain-rich people, because they thought their breeding made them better than everyone else. It was pretty much a given for them to attend Jasperstone, Faye added, if they weren't tutored.

The eighth that was left was the part that both Faye _and_ Meghan were members of - the scholarship students. Faye's smile had returned and had gotten bigger when she mentioned this. Why?

Because as it turned out, Faye was practically a genius. Crazy, jumpy, perky, happy, overenthusiastic Faye...was smart. Really smart. Smart enough to nab a _full-ride_ _scholarship_ to a very high-esteemed girls' academy. Who would've thought?

Certainly not Meghan. She was very impressed.

"There are a few _other_ scholarship students," Faye added, "but not many." And every year, there were two girls who were separated from all the rest. They were the exchange students, and this year Meghan was one of them. Actually, altogether, there were four every year - two each semester. This was because the exchange programs were never willing to pay more than a semester's tuition for any one person to one of the most expensive schools in London.

And guess what? Turns out, The Jasperstone Academy for Girls hasn't had an American attending since 1997. As if there weren't enough pressure already.

But Meghan was up for it - at least, she was pretty sure she was.

So now they were walking into the school that looked more like an embassy. Faye opened one of the huge, gleaming double doors, and they stepped inside.

More girls chattered in clusters scattered through the halls. As she and Faye walked by, she saw a few people looking at her in wonder. She could hear them talking to each other in low voices:

"Who's that girl?"

"I don't believe I've seen her before."

"It's an American."

"Is she lost?"

"Oh my, isn't she short?"

"She's not as short as you, Sheridan."

"Are you mad? She's much shorter!"

"I think not."

Meghan stood up even straighter, but was unable to stop her face from burning, just a bit. Faye kept walking, until they reached a door that had the words "Head Office" printed on the front.

"Wait out here." said Faye. "I have to get my classes. You'll be staying with me today. Won't that be fun?"

"Oh, a blast." Meghan answered, a little sarcastically. But she was relieved to not have to be going solo today. She needed at least _some_ time, to get used to this place. And it was nice to have Faye to guide her. Perky as Faye was, she was a friend in Meghan's eyes.

She sat down on a bench by the door while the blonde went inside. Meghan began to twirl her brown hair, which was down today and neatly brushed, around her finger. She tried to calm her nerves.

"Oh my, it's her!"

**I looked up** to see three very excited girls coming toward me, dragging along another girl whose expression looked more like mine - leery and apprehensive. Her face had a small, shy smile on it, while the others had smiles so wide they'd probably end up stuck that way.

"You're the other exchange student, aren't you?" One girl chimed.

"That would be correct." I told her.

"Oh! You're the American! Faye was telling us about you!" another said.

"Uh...you know Faye?"

"Of course we know her! She was talking to us just the other day, about the girl from New York who's moving in with her! You're...Meghan, right?"

"That's me."

Quickly, the girl who'd just asked that question pulled over the shy-looking silent one.

"This is Ayaka, the exchange student from Hong Kong. She's staying with me." Ayaka had black hair and black eyes, and I could tell she was of Asian decent. It surprised me to see that near her left shoulder, on her jacket, was a patch of a red flag with a white flower on it. It was exactly where I wore the stars and stripes.

One of them, with brown hair almost as dark as mine, sat on the bench beside me, staring at me intently.

"Did Faye leave you here...all _alone?_" asked the girl next to me on the bench.

"No, she's in the - "

SLAM!!

I heard the door to the office come closed, hard. Faye shuffled out, her face practically glued to the paper she held in front of her.

"Ooooohh! I can't _believe_ they put me in Harlison's _again!_" she fumed. "I can't _stand_ to put up with him for another - EMILY!!!!!"

"FAYE!!!"

My host sister and Ayaka's host sister sped into each other's arms, jumping with glee.

"Oh! What classes do you have?!"

"Let me see yours!"

"OH! We have TWO CLASSES TOGETHER!!!"

"Brilliant!!!"

Two of the other girls were there in a second, leaving the girl from Hong Kong behind with me.

"Samantha!! Bridget!!"

"Faye! Let me see that paper!"

"Wait, let me!"

"Oh my...YOU HAVE FIVE CLASSES WITH ME!"

At this point, I was beginning to think that the world was being overrun with Faye clones. I looked away from the jumping mob. Ayaka was standing there in front of me.

"Aren't they something?" I asked her. "People here are pretty energetic, don't you think?"

The girl just grinned. It was then that I realized - she probably hadn't understood a word I'd just said.

Then again, they probably wouldn't have let her come here if she didn't know at least _some _english...oh, I don't know. I was just confused. Still am.

Eventually, Faye came back down from Planet Yip and dragged her lovely friends back over to us, the foreigners.

"Oh, Meghan, I'm sorry. My manners! This is - "

"Emily, Samantha, and Bridget." I said, pointing to each of them in order.

Faye looked surprised.

"Why...yes. How did you know their names, Meghan?"

I looked at her a second, then shrugged.

"Lucky guess."


	11. The Snob

**Strangely enough, Daphne hadn't called last night.** Though Meghan wished she had. She hadn't heard her cousin's voice in two days - she was pretty sure she was beginning to suffer withdrawal.

No, the only voices Meghan was hearing at the moment were those of Faye and her chattering friends, who at the moment were bombarding her with questions.

"What's New York like?"

"Noisy."

"Have you ever been to Hollywood?"

"No, but my mom has."

"Do you eat at McDonald's every day?"

"Uh...no."

"Have you gone to the top of the Empire State Building?"

"Ten times."

"Do you have any pets?"

"We had a hamster once, but it ran away."

"Is your family nice?"

"Most of the time."

"Do you like your school?"

"Not really."

"How is the food there?"

"Sick. Nasty. Wrong."

It was kind of nice to have all that attention. Meghan felt special, to have experienced something that they hadn't, but that she normally took for granted.

They would've gone on asking questions if a huge, almost ear-shattering ringing hadn't sounded at that very moment. Meghan instinctfully covered her ears. At her school, there was just a generic, computerized twang that wasn't nearly as loud. Here, a bell actually sounded like...well, a bell.

Instantly the preceding bustle was amplified about twelve times. The voices of Meghan, Faye, and the others were all at once overcome by the sound of girls rushing to their classes. Meghan saw them fast-walking with their eyes fixated on their papers, the ones that listed their designated rooms. They clutched their books like their lives depended on it, almost tripping over each other in their frenzy.

For the first time, Meghan was reminded of home.

**When the bell rang, Faye was forced to say goodbye for now to her friends.** The ones whom she called Samantha and Bridget ran off together, while the one called Emily grabbed the eastern girl and dragged her down the opposite way. Then Faye grabbed me, and I was dragged off in about the same fashion.

"Come on, Meghan." She told me. "We mustn't be late."

I tried to respond, but my voice drowned in the crowds.

Faye dragged me, and I hurried. My feet were already beginning to ache in those hard, black shoes. I wanted my Converse sneakers. I wanted them very badly.

I told myself that eventually, Faye would pull me into one of these rooms, and we'd both sit down, and we'd be safe. I told myself that sooner or later, we'd come out of this swirling vortex of navy and red and clompy black feet.

You know that feeling you get, when you just _know_ something's about to happen? That the thin little thread you're walking on is going to snap? Like when you're playing Jenga, and you pull out one more piece of wood, but the whole rickety tower starts to move with it, and you know it's about to come crashing down?

That's the feeling I got. It lasted about three seconds.

_CRASH!_

I slammed right smack into another girl. The girl fell over backwards. I lost my balance and fell with her. I was still grasping Faye's hand, so she tumbled as well. Faye knocked over two other girls. The crowd scattered.

Fortunately, the domino effect ended with those other two girls. But damage had already been done. The onlookers seemed to be stunned into silence, as if Elvis had just come back to life and was standing right here in this hallway. In a pink dress.

Somehow, I knew I'd made a huge mistake.

I immediately rolled off of the initial victim. I sat up and brought my hand to my forehead, feeling dizzy. My face burned. I couldn't pick myself up right away.

But the other girl could. And the other girl was raving mad.

"How - how _DARE _you?!" she spouted. "How _DARE _you slam into me?!"

"I...I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."

"You _insolent_, careless, ignorant SWINE! Whoever you are, I am going to make you regret ever setting foot in this academy! You _imbecile_, you wretch, you..."

I brought my hand down from my forehead, which was now starting to sweat.

"Bloody _YANK!! _"

I looked away. It was then that another girl picked herself off the ground, disoriented, brushing herself off. The shouting one noticed. I looked up again to see a smirk spread across her face.

"Fray Windbag." she sneered, her voice lower but just as cold. "I should've known you'd be involved. You and your barbaric companions. And it appears there's a new member of the horde. Congratulations on obtaining another mindless exchange student to brighten your dismal, insignificant life."

Faye looked away. I stood up. I'd gone from embarrassed and regretful to angry and defensive in the course of a second.

"Hey." I said, looking the other girl straight in the face. "If you're going to insult someone, at least get their name right. Fray? _Windbag?_ Have some dignity! Or are we back to being seven-year-olds?"

The snotty girl stared at me, and narrowed her eyes. Then she had a look of indifference.

"Touché, American." she said. "For that, I will look away. Consider this a warning."

She then turned and began to walk away, perfectly primped golden hair swishing behind her. About five other girls trailed after, giving me dirty looks. Everyone else stared in wonder as they started again on their way to class. And Faye and I were left, staring after the prissy blonde and her zombie followers.

Now pretty much feeling I ruined my first impression to the Jasperstone student body, I no longer felt nervous. Only stunned. I stared for a long time, even after the stuck-up group turned a corner and disappeared.

"Who - who _was_ that?" I asked, turning to a disgruntled Faye.

Her face seethed with pure disgust, fire burning in her eyes. For the first time, she was at a loss for words. She said only three.

"Clarissa." she told me. "Clarissa Payne."

**Well...there you go. Bet you expected that one. But oh well. **

**Sorry I skipped so abruptly from the scene in Faye's bedroom. Don't worry, though - the subject of Aaron WILL come up again later. So don't be mad:)**

**I'd like to apologize ahead of time for any cultural things I may screw up or have screwed up in this story, to anyone who knows more about England than I do (or, heaven forbid, actually _lives_ there). I have never been there, so I don't know much, though I wish I did. I'm just going on what little I do know, and otherwise kind of winging it. So please forgive me if I get something wrong.**

**Also, sorry for the lame name for the school, it was the best I could come up with. :P**

**-rf-**


	12. The Reason

**So sorry I took so long again! Here are the next two chapters!**

**Christine Writer, thanks SO MUCH for your review! You're the first one to do that in a long time! I'm glad you thought I brought Clarissa in the right way, and that I picked a good school name - I had thought both were cheesy. And _Conformed _ was an awesome story - hope you write more WAGW fics:)**

**Anyhow, as always, read & review!! Delila and all her old lady friends KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!!!!**

I now understood why Faye so disliked Mr. Harlison. Sitting here next to her in his class (her first for the day), I got the complete picture.

See, this guy was pretty much an equal mixture of grouchiness and weirdness. Kind of like a mangy, wild chihuahua with one leg. Or something like that.

Let me see if I can describe his image for you. This guy was short and stumpy, with his shirt tucked, like, _way_ into his creased brown pants. He had a super-long frizzy gray beard as well as glasses that hung around his neck on a chain, and when he'd grab at his glasses to put them on his nose, they would get caught in his beard. When this happened, he would make this strange little noise at the feeling he'd get when the hair was pulled. And of course, on top he was bald, though he tried to hide it with a combover.

His personality was no better. He liked to lick his lips and then call on some random girl by their last name (which he'd always mispronounce) and add "Miss" to the beginning to answer some cryptic question or problem he'd written on the board. His voice sounded rather like that stuffy guy on _Masterpiece Theater _(or maybe it's spelled as _Theatre_, I'm not sure) who sits in a leather tufted chair and smokes a pipe and acts like he has the world's best taste in movies (I beg to differ).

So anyway, there was Faye with me next to her, and she was just mumbling to herself and trying to scribble out whatever was supposedly being taught, and then...

_BAM!_

This idiot decides to slam a metal yardstick against her desk and practically give her a heart attack. She snapped up.

"Miss Winthrop!" he bellowed.

Shaken, she looked up at him.

"Sir?"

"Tell me the answer to that problem." he said, pointing to the board, where there was an incomprehensible math problem written in chalk.

Poor Faye examined the board from her seat, squinting her eyes at Mr. Harlison's chicken-scratch writing. She seemed to process the information, but unfortunately took too long to do it.

"Wrong!" he shouted. "Perhaps your friend can tell you. You there!" He pointed his stick in my face. "Can you provide the class with an answer?"

With that, I had no choice but to turn to the board myself. I struggled to read.

_Sin...something...cos...something...x square root of y...4pi minus 2...log9..._

It might as well have been asking me how to get to Sesame Street using the time-space continuum vortex. I wouldn't be surprised if it had been.

"Uh...seven?"

The grumpy teacher looked as if he would spontaneously combust.

"It is most certainly NOT seven. Why are you not taking notes? Get out your notebook."

"Um...well, see, this really isn't my class, and I'm only going to be in here for one day, and...well, this is all Greek to me..."

"Stop! I do not care what language it is written in, you will write what is on that board and you will LEARN it! Then, perhaps, you might acquire some intelligence!"

I scrambled to get out the notebook I'd brought with me, now becoming extremely sickened by Mr. Harlison's demented, lip-licking soul.

"Mindless exchange student." he grumbled to himself as he turned to walk back to the board. It was the second time today I'd been called mindless. It was really starting to tick me off.

Just then, the incredibly loud ringing sounded once again. Though ear-shattering, it was a welcome sound for me at the time. Faye and I stood up to walk with the rest of the class out of the room, and we couldn't get out of there fast enough.

So once again we were swallowed up in the crowd of schoolgirls. I saw a lot of them staring at me. Some of them had stares of disgust, but most just stared in wonder.

It didn't bother me as much as it could have. I'd been through worse. I'd been scorned before. And besides, I was a New Yorker. Hard to bend, almost impossible to break.

However, looking to Faye, I surmised that she was having a much harder time than I was. And really, her downed expression only got worse.

And it was hard to blame her. When people pointed at me, they pointed at her. When I got leered at, she got leered at. That guilty feeling came back to me again.

And the classes? Well, for the most part, they were all pretty much the same. The teachers were either boring, strict, or both. Usually both. And the subjects were not very easy to understand. Of course, all of Faye's classes were, like, extra high level, so I expected them to be hard. But I imagined that my classes wouldn't be much easier, since being strict seemed to be what this school was all about.

So when Faye dragged me into, oh, about her fourth class of the day, I asked her a question.

"Faye," I asked, "why do you even go to this school? I mean, there are so many snobs! Wouldn't it be more fun to go to a regular school?"

Still being strangely less talkative, Faye looked at me. Then she looked away, and sighed.

"I've asked myself that question, Meghan, hundreds of times. But then I think to myself, Faye, if you left, you'd just be giving them what they want. And it doesn't catch my fancy to give them that satisfaction."

Well, okay then. I was rather expecting something along the lines of, "It will prepare me for college." or "I like to challenge myself." or "It's a place where I can grow to my true potential.".

But frankly, I liked _her_ answer the best.

**It was time for the lunch break.** Faye led Meghan outside, into a courtyard that was, of course, surrounded by wall.

Nevertheless, it was a beautiful courtyard. There was grass, trees, and lovely little stone benches and picnic tables. There were some flowers as well, and even a water fountain in the very center. Girls were everywhere, walking, gossiping, eating their dainty little meals.

Meghan was once again in awe. At her school, there was just a noisy cafeteria that smelled like salami. And if you didn't want to eat in there, your only other choices of places to sit were on railings, graffitied walls, and the occasional dumpster.

Here, even the food service was ritzy. And the food itself was certainly better as well. When she and Faye had gotten their trays, she was shocked to see that her meal for the day would be sliced roast beef and gravy with corn, and soup on the side. The roast beef even had a garnish on it. A _garnish._

And soon, Meghan was reminded of Faye's other reason for staying on at this school - her talkative clones. Immediately after they had received their lunch, the two girls were surrounded by Emily, Samantha, and Bridget, with Ayaka at Emily's side. The chattering began again, and Faye seemed to return to her old self as she chattered along with them.

Meghan smiled to see Faye come back to life. She and Ayaka trailed behind the four chirping birds, making their way to one of the stone tables. They sat, and Meghan hungrily cut into the roast beef - but not before removing the garnish.

While Faye and her friends blathered on, Meghan became lost in thought. About how different everything was. Like how so many things here looked older and more refined. Or how everyone seemed to be far more patient and content with their studies. Or how delicious this roast beef was compared to the infamous mystery meat.

"How about you, Meghan? Meghan?"

She looked up.

"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry. I kinda missed what you said."

The enquirer, Samantha, giggled.

"We were talking about summer. I was asking you what you did."

Meghan smirked.

"Oh, nothing really. Just a lot of laying around. Tried to get a tan. It didn't work."

The four girls giggled some more and went on talking. Meghan lost track of their conversation again.

She looked around at her surroundings. The uniforms, the trees, the stone, the fountain. It made her feel lovely, and sophisticated.

Meghan still felt out of place. Very out of place. But she didn't really feel like running off to hide under a rock, never to emerge again.

At least, not yet.


	13. The OTHER School

**Faye had seven classes.** That's how many incomprehensible lessons Meghan had to sit through before that last horribly loud bell signaled the end of school.

And it was a good thing, too. Her mind was exhausted.

She followed Faye as she led her out of the building and toward the front gate. She still caught people's eyes fixated on her.

_Whatever. _She thought. _Let then stare._ Besides, she had shopping to look forward to.

They stood outside the school for a time, waiting for the black station wagon to pull up and take them away, away to romp around London. While they waited, Faye noticed some other cars as they pulled up. Most of them were either luxury cars or...limos. LIMOS.

And then there were the few girls that just walked on down the street. Apparently, they lived nearby. Meghan wondered where their chauffeurs were - if they lived in this part of town, they certainly must have _some_ money. The only houses Meghan could see in this area were mansions. In the car on the way to school that morning, she had easily noticed the transition as they drove out of the middle-class neighborhood where Faye lived and into the high-class part of the city where the academy was located.

But then she noticed who the girls were. Faye's friends.

"Faye."

"Mmmm?"

"How come your friends are walking?"

Faye looked up.

"Oh, they walk home every day. Samantha's parents are always working. Emily and Bridget are scholarship students like me, but both of them live near Samantha, so they walk home with her to keep her company."

Meghan bent her head a bit.

"Oh." she said. She suddenly felt sorry for Samantha. She knew how she must feel. Meghan had felt that way before, too.

But before she could think anymore, the big black car pulled up right in front of them, with Emma Winthrop in the driver's seat. Faye opened the door to the back seat, and motioned for Meghan to go in.

"Oh, we're going to have the most _wonderful_ time! First we'll go shopping, then we'll eat at a restaurant, then we'll shop some more, then maybe we'll see a movie, then - "

"I know, Faye, I know. We'll have fun."

Faye closed the door behind her, and soon the car began to move. Meghan stared out the window, still in disbelief that she wasn't back in New York, in bed, asleep and dreaming. London certainly had the traffic of New York. But of course, school had just gotten out. She expected for there to be crowds.

But wait a minute. What was going on over _there_? About, oh, a hundred yards away, it was also extremely crowded. Cars were everywhere, opening up their doors for people to get in. But Meghan could see no girls, no girls in their navy-and red uniforms. She did see uniforms, though. Just no skirts.

As the station wagon drew nearer, Meghan noticed that the cars were gathered around another huge building surrounded by a stone wall, much like Jasperstone Academy. Yes, another wall with big iron gates that led into a palace-like structure. When they got close enough, Meghan read the big letters attached to that wall:

_The Morris Brenshire School for Boys_

Meghan was intrigued. Very, very intrigued.

**Man.** When Faye said we were going shopping, she wasn't kidding. Seriously, I thought Mrs. Winthrop was going to wear out her credit card. I'd never been on such a spree. And by about an hour later, those punkers at Jasperstone couldn't be farther from my mind.

We hit about twenty different stores altogether. They were pretty classy, too. Cute little boutiques. And that one store Faye was raving about? As it happens, it really did have the most _sublime_ handbags. I got a cute little barrel-shaped purse in a teal color. I got a second one in orange for Daphne. Faye, of course, got one in pink.

Handbags certainly weren't all I saw. In fact, I ended up getting about four complete outfits (including the shoes!). My favorite one is a cute little chocolate brown sundress with blue flowers, accented by brown and tan espadrilles and a blue beaded necklace. It goes perfect with the handbag.

Oh! And all of us got these cute little hot pink berets, which we wore as soon as we got them. They were being sold at a little booth outside of one of the stores for £1 each, so they were pretty cheap. I got one for everyone at home too - I figured they'd go well with our kimonos.

So anyways, by the time we took a break to eat, our arms were completely loaded down with bags. We stopped at a charming little café, and ate outside at a little table in the sunshine. I was in a state of utter bliss. I was shopping in England, and eating at a little café. It was something straight out of one of those daydreams I always have in Algebra class. And then a thought entered my mind.

If I wake up, and I'm in Algebra class, I'm going to SCREAM MY EVER-LOVING HEAD OFF.

**Three women sat outside The Cottage Garden Café, eating little sandwiches and sipping hot tea.** Except for Meghan, that is - she'd requested iced tea, which she promptly drank with her pinky finger sticking up. It made Faye giggle to see her do so, before joining her Mom in a short little applause.

"Thank you, thank you." Meghan said with a smile, before sucking an ice cube into her mouth to chew on. "Sorry, couldn't resist." she told them. They didn't seem to mind.

A conversation quickly began. Mrs. Winthrop told Meghan about her job, as a wedding planner.

"I've been to lots of weddings." Meghan said. "My aunt sings at those, and sometimes my cousin and I get to help out as waitresses, to earn some extra spending money. I've met a lot of planners, too. They're usually, like, _really_ stressed out, until they see the bride and groom dance with each other. Then, you can tell by the look on their faces - to them, all is right with the world."

Mrs. Winthrop beamed. Meghan couldn't have been more right.

Then Faye told her about Laurence's job. He owned an eating establishment called The Crystal Spoon.

"It's a _four-star _restaurant! Very refined, very fancy. And the food is to die for! My father hired the best chefs on the planet - you'll see! You'll get to eat there loads of times while you're here."

Meghan would be looking forward to that.

In turn, Meghan told them about her mother's job. She worked for a huge business, as an assistant to an executive.

"She majored in business in college. Her job is okay, but I don't think she likes it very well. You know what I think she _really_ wants to do?"

Faye and her mother waited with interest.

"_I _think she wants to be a fashion designer. I mean, she wears the best outfits! They're perfect for her - cute, but mature and sophisticated. She's great with colors and fabrics. And sometimes, I even see her scribbling sketches on napkins and little memo pads."

Faye's face glowed with fascination.

"My aunt, though - she _loves _her job. She's been singing all her life. She even has her own band."

"Really." Emma said with a sly smile. "Well, we'll have ta have her come an' sing for one o'my weddings then, won't we?"

Meghan laughed. "Yes, I think she'd like that."

By now, they had finished their meal. They stood up to leave and resume their shopping extravaganza.

All of a sudden, they heard noises. Bustling. They turned around.

From their position by their table at the café, Meghan, Faye, and Faye's mother saw a huge crowd, quickly gathering at the steps of a large building. From all around, people rushed as if they were being chased by dogs. Erratic flashes came from here and there, along with much yelling and shouting.

Meghan stared in wonder. Something was definitely going on.

**Ooooh...suspense. :)**

**I've been noticing lately that, when I post two chapters, the second one usually gets more hits than the first one. So in case some people are a little confused, I just wanted to make it clear - unless I specify otherwise, for this story, I post two chapters at a time. I posted another chapter, the previous one, at the same time I posted this one. So if any of you think you might have skipped a chapter, you might want to go back and check. Sorry for the confusion!**

**I'm going on vacation next week, so I'll try to get the next two up before I go. Be on the lookout!**

**Farewell till next time**

**-rf-**


	14. The Sighting

**OMG!!!! I am SO angry with myself! I said I'd try to post earlier, and instead I take longer than ever due to unforseen circumstances. ARRRGGGGHHHH! I'm so sorry!**

**But I know that what you really want is the story, so I'm just going to quit blathering and get on with it. Hopefully, these chapters will be worth your wait. :) Much thanks again to Mimzy and cassiopoeia for their reviews!**

Not a word was said. Nothing needed to be said. Focused on finding out the reason for all this fuss, Emma Winthrop had immediately started toward the crowds and the flashes, motioning for Meghan and Faye to follow. They did.

Shopping bags bounced as they shuffled along. Meghan lagged behind the most, for it was hard for her to run in those hard black shoes. Many other people were running, too, and she was almost separated from Faye and her mother. The cobblestone ground sure wasn't making things any easier. Meghan came close to tripping and spilling newly purchased merchandise all over the area.

Eventually, all three of them were able to make it to where the bulk of the people had gathered. The crowd was dense, and very pushy. Cameras were the source of the flashes, but neither Meghan nor the Winthrops could see what it was that was being photographed. Too many people were in the way.

Emma tried to stand taller and peek over the others' heads, but to no avail. Energetic Faye jumped up a few times, and seemed to be having even worse luck than her mother. Poor Meghan just tried to stay close, and was becoming more and more nervous and anxious as even more people joined the crowd, closing her in.

How unfortunate it was that she had to be snapped out of her sweet reverie of shopping and tea and loveliness, only to be engulfed into this boisterous mess of reporters, photographers, and antsy citizens. Meghan was quickly becoming irritated.

_What, is Oprah here or something?_

Suddenly, the noise seemed to come down. Though the camera flashes never ceased, the crowd became more still, and Meghan felt a bit of relief. Faye and her mother, however, were not satisfied with their current positions. They pushed their way deeper into the crowd. After some hesitation, Meghan followed.

As she herself pushed through, she looked for the people she'd come with. They were nowhere in sight.

Meghan was beginning to panic.

Quickly, she picked a direction and pushed on further. She stumbled through the mass of curious people, repeating the same phrases over and over.

"Excuse me, sorry, oh, excuse me, I'm sorry, pardon me..."

With each step she took, Meghan felt more uneasy. She heard someone begin to speak. A speech. That's what these people had gathered to hear. Oh, happy politics! Politics had gotten her lost in this mess. She was not amused.

At last, after much pushing and shoving and bumping, Meghan saw another Jasperstone uniform, and some blonde Dorothy-style braids. Apparently, the relentless Faye and her fire-headed mother had made it all the way to the front of the crowd, and they looked quite contented to be there.

Meghan let out her breath, which she'd been holding, and her anxiety along with it. All she had to do now was listen to this boring speech that she was sure would probably make no sense to her whatsoever, and then, they could get back to their shopping. She pushed through to stand beside Faye.

"There you are!" Faye said in a low voice, somehow still in a sing-songy way. "We were afraid we'd lost you!"

Meghan straightened out her clothes, and readjusted the bags on her wrists. Amazingly, she had been able to squeeze through despite the bulkiness of her packages, and hadn't lost even one little trinket. Quite an accomplishment for a girl who'd had almost no idea what she was doing.

"Yes, Faye, I found you." she said, still looking at her jacket as she adjusted it. "But I would've never gotten lost if you hadn't - "

She looked up, and her breath caught stone cold in her throat.

"If I hadn't what?" Faye asked.

But Meghan didn't hear her. Meghan couldn't hear anyone but what she thought had just been some stuffy blowhard making a speech. But no...no, it wasn't some stuffy blowhard...

"Meghan?"

She couldn't believe it. She was staring straight into those eyes...Daphne's eyes...

"Meghan Reynolds, you answer me this instant!"

It wasn't television, or photographs, or stories - this was real life. It was _him._

**It took snapping her finger** in front of my face for Faye to get my attention. Man, I had really zoned out there for a second.

Thing is, though - now I know what Aunt Libby felt.

Faye was still pressing me on whatever I'd said earlier. I told her never mind, since I really couldn't remember what it was anyway. I then presented her with a new question.

"Faye...w-what's going on?"

She looked at me like I was dense.

"Why, Lord Dashwood is making a speech, that's what's going on!"

Thank you, mistress of all that is obvious.

"_Why_ is he making a speech, Faye?"

Faye looked indifferent.

"He's running for office this upcoming year."

"Office?"

"Office."

Well, if that wasn't interesting. Funny, Daphne always was good in Speech & Debate class at our school. She once took down Kianna Dawson in a rousing debate over appropriate skirt lengths on campus. She had answered one question by saying, "Free at last, free at last, thanks to miniskirts, we are free at last!". Ah, good times, good times.

I hadn't noticed it before, but the brown-haired man wasn't alone at the podium. He was surrounded by four people. Nearest to him was a rather conservative-looking woman, flashing a smile that looked kind of phony to me. Next to her stood some bald-headed weirdo that kind of looked like Shakespeare's evil twin (no insult to Shakespeare intended). He was downright creepy. On the other side of the podium, a few feet away, another woman with graying blonde hair stood. She looked very distinguished and regal, as well as gracefully aged.

Seeing the fourth person almost made me lose high tea. I am not even kidding. It pains me to even mention it.

Yes, friends, it was my great misfortune to find that the person standing near the dignified-looking woman was none other than _Clarissa Payne_. All decked out in tweed and everything. I was stunned out of my hard black shoes.

"W-what's _she_ doing here?!" I demanded of Faye. Before she could answer, I had the most disturbing, most horrible thought you could ever imagine. My stomach lurched. "Oh, no...no...Faye, _PLEASE_ tell me she's not..."

Faye half-chuckled.

"No, Meghan, she's not his daughter. He doesn't have any children."

_Wanna bet? _I thought.

"The sad thing, though," Faye went on, "is that she _will_ be his daughter soon. Or, well, stepdaughter. He's getting married."

How many times in one day must I feel like my soul is plunging?

"M-married?"

"That's correct. It will be his first."

How unfortunate, how awful, how heartbreaking it was that after seventeen long, lonely years, the man still hadn't married - but that he was picking _now_ to do it.

"Wh-who's the lucky woman?" I stammered, my throat knotting up as I held back tears.

"That's her right there." Faye replied, pointing to the conservative woman. "Her name is Glynnis."

I stared at the phony face that had replaced my aunt. My wonderful aunt, who I loved and respected so very much. She deserved to be standing there, with Daphne at her side. But instead, there was this high-and-mighty oppressor who thought she owned the world. That face was nothing short of gruesome to me.

"It's too bad, really." Faye commented. "He's such a decent man. He doesn't deserve to have a daughter like Clarissa. She's a witch, and all of London knows it. And personally, I have my theories on her mother as well."

I guess it was kind of wishing too much to think that my aunt's true love would hold her in his arms and be together once again. But you would still hold out that hope, you know? And to find out once and for all that it really was too late, that the love was lost forever - it was a little too much for me to take. I couldn't stare at that face anymore.

"Faye." I said. "Please, can we go?"

She turned to me. I guess she noticed the anguish in my face, for she motioned for her mother to leave, and she complied. The three of us made our way back into the crowd.

For a moment, I had a feeling that someone was watching me. But the last thing I wanted to do was look back.


	15. The Message

merrymeg727: daphs u there

laffytaffydaphy45: MEG!! I miss u so much where r u?

merrymeg727: in wonderland. how bout u?

laffytaffydaphy45: same as ever the land of many eggrolls lol

LilJJ99wazupNYC: sup what u fine ladies doin this evenin?

merrymeg727: josh get out of here

LilJJ99wazupNYC: aw i was just gettin started wanna see how the josh man wins a womans heart?

laffytaffydaphy45: no please leave

LilJJ99wazupNYC: alright but you ladies r missin out on a fine hunk o man oooh im so fly

merrymeg727: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!

laffytaffydaphy45: omg make it stop!

LilJJ99wazupNYC has left the room

merrymeg727: well now that that's over

laffytaffydaphy45: i miss u so much please come back

merrymeg727: i miss u too daphs u have no idea

laffytaffydaphy45: i've got 2 know how is london?

merrymeg727: i love it here but i still miss NYC. why u not call me

laffytaffydaphy45: oh yeah i couldn't im so sorry

merrymeg727: what happened?

laffytaffydaphy45: ur aunt was scatterbrained thats what happened

merrymeg727: my aunt is always scatterbrained what she do now?

laffytaffydaphy45: she said i would call but we're only supposed 2 have one phone call a week she forgot

merrymeg727: WHAT i didn't know that

laffytaffydaphy45: u r supposed 2 be immersed in a new culture remember? the program wants us 2 limit our calls well at least that's what ur mom told me. plus it costs a lot of money

merrymeg727: man that bites :P

laffytaffydaphy45: whatevs lets just talk how r they treating u?

merrymeg727: extremely well

laffytaffydaphy45: thats good to know. r u having a good time?

merrymeg727: 4 the most part yes. hey did u talk 2 aunt libby?

laffytaffydaphy45: about what?

merrymeg727: u know what!

laffytaffydaphy45: no i didn't talk 2 her why?

merrymeg727: r u sure u didn't talk 2 her bfore I left?

laffytaffydaphy45: yes im sure meg what r u talking about?

merrymeg727: ur mom gave me some stuff

laffytaffydaphy45: what stuff?

merrymeg727: oh just some stuff ;)

laffytaffydaphy45: u know what meg u need to stop being so vague

merrymeg727: oh c'mon just guess

laffytaffydaphy45: i give up

merrymeg727: fine ur no fun. she gave me ur birth certificate ya happy?

laffytaffydaphy45: ...?

laffytaffydaphy45: why would she...?

laffytaffydaphy45: wait

laffytaffydaphy45: OMG:0

merrymeg727: finally u get it

laffytaffydaphy45: omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg meg r u serious?!

merrymeg727: i m very serious and she gave me some pictures too

laffytaffydaphy45: i cannot believe this omg this is crazy :0

merrymeg727: i agree

laffytaffydaphy45: what r u going 2 do i mean...wow

merrymeg727: i dunno what do u suggest?

laffytaffydaphy45: ME?! what r u asking me for?!

merrymeg727: he's ur dad dimwit

laffytaffydaphy45: i m not a dimwit thank u very much

merrymeg727: i know that lol :D

laffytaffydaphy45: i know but ur right though i shouldn't be putting it all on u

merrymeg727: argh no don't worry about it im here 4 u

laffytaffydaphy45: good i would not survive otherwise

merrymeg727: oh im sure u would find a way

laffytaffydaphy45: doubt it. but still what r u gonna do?

merrymeg727: im not really sure...somethin will come

laffytaffydaphy45: thank u so much this means a lot 2 me

merrymeg727: i know but daphs?

laffytaffydaphy45: yeah?

merrymeg727: maybe there's something I should tell u

merrymeg727: daphs?

laffytaffydaphy45 has left the room


	16. The Suspicion

**Hello! After an eternity, the next two chapters are finally up. So...I hope you like them!**

**Many thanks to Christine Writer, good guesses! Coco Puffs to you anyway for being the one person who actually guessed at all. The answer won't be revealed for a while, so keep trying!**

**By the way, those of you who're wondering about Ian - don't worry, he'll show up. I won't be fixing him up with Meghan though, wink wink. ;)**

Shoot. Just when I think I'm gonna get the chance to talk to Daphne (even if it's through cheesy IMing), I am thwarted yet again.

Here's the thing. I, merrymeg727 (I put 727 in my screen name because 7 is my shoe size and 27 is the age I want to be when I get married. Daphne put 45 in hers because she has 45 guitar picks in her collection.), am in a predicament. Really.

Now, you may be wondering something: Why, during that speech, didn't I just run up to the podium, deck that hussy Gladys in the face, and shout, "Alas, alas, this woman is unworthy!!!". Well, here's my answer.

I am not insane.

I may end up that way, however, because this entire situation is CRAZY.

Why me? Why must I be in this position? I GO TO SCHOOL WITH DAPHNE'S EVIL STEPSISTER!!!!!!!

I still stand by what I said before. I still firmly believe that somebody needs to tell that poor man the truth, so that he can acknowledge the existence of a life he helped bring into this world - namely, my cousin, whom I've had the privilege to associate with throughout all my seventeen-some-odd years. It's a privilege that more people deserved to have.

And I also still firmly believe that it is only fair that Daphne get the chance to be a daughter not just to my scatterbrained aunt, but to someone else as well.

But I've said this before, and I'll say it again: What in all this world do _I_ have to do with ANY OF THIS?! I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing! My cousin is now depending on me - but I don't know what to do.

If I just went to his mansion thingy, march right up like I promised Daphne we'd do together - what, exactly, would I be walking into? Faye says there's decency, but how much decency? Because if ANY of them were to reject Daphne, they too would be decked. I don't care who you are - you hurt my cousin, you get it from me ten times worse.

But for some strange reason, this guy does not strike me as being that way. I don't know. I've only seen him, like, twice, but sometimes it doesn't take much to tell something about a person.

And seventeen years have gone by, and only just now comes the prospect of marriage. Maybe, just maybe...for a certain blonde woman, this man waited.

The thing is, though, you can't expect a person to wait forever. And...I certainly can't expect Daphne to wait forever.

I'm just not sure I'm the one who should be doing this. I'm just lowly little Meghan Beatrice Reynolds. I'm nothing special, really. Just confused, and frankly, terrified.

But this is what Daphne wants. No, what she _needs_. And if I'm the one who's supposed to give it to her...well, okay then.

**Meghan stretched, and let out a long sigh.** Her feet hurt from walking all day in those clompy shoes. Thank goodness she'd brought her fluffy green St. Patrick's Day slippers with her - they sure felt good.

She was staring at the screen of the computer in Mr. Winthrop's home office. It was now seven o'clock, and she and Faye were alone in the house - save for Jacob and Uncle Wallace. After the big shopping spree, Emma had gone off to help out her husband at the restaurant, which she often did. Anthony had gotten Jacob from daycare, and had been watching him until the girls got home. Now, he was off at a friend's house, and it was Faye and Meghan's turn to look after the toddler. Uncle Wallace was watching a cricket match, as usual.

Meghan had landed on some website she was trying to decipher, but she was having a hard time concentrating on the text, and even the pictures (they were very interesting pictures, mind you) weren't holding her interest. Her mind was acting as it typically did - off on other things.

An amusing thought made her smile a bit. This day, she had been angry with math, and then politics - now, she realized, it was the internet that was her newest target of blame. For it was the internet, with all of its wonderful but terribly intrusive flashy boxes, that had lured her into a situation that was very much over her head. Actually, it was the media in general - television had played a part in things as well, what with those lovely British news programs.

But even with all of the adversaries she faced - so far, besides arithmetic, social issues, and the media, the list included: noisy nose-blowers, hard black shoes, crowds, a snotty blonde girl, spitty teachers with long beards, garnishes, more crowds armed with cameras, a giant Barbie in a business suit, possibly Shakespeare's evil twin, and a cat named Benjamin, who'd just hawked up a hairball on one of her fluffy slippers - Meghan still didn't feel complete regret, because she loved Daphne so much. And it felt special to be close enough with her that they could share anything with each other, and have complete trust.

She closed the Internet and opened WordPad. Lazily, she tapped some random keys...

"Meghan?"

She jumped. Quickly she turned around to see someone standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Faye?"

The girl paused.

"May I come in?"

Meghan stared for a moment, a bit puzzled at Faye's tone.

"Of course!" she promptly answered.

Hesitantly, the questioner advanced. As Meghan turned in the swivel chair, something caught Faye's eye.

"Oh, what lovely slippers! But... why is one of them wet?"

"Your cat." Meghan said simply, thumbing over her shoulder to the corner of the office, where Benny looked to be hacking up yet another wad of fur.

"Oh, bother." Faye said with disdain. "We'll have to give him some more medicine tonight before he goes to sleep."

Meghan smirked. "Where's Jacob?"

"He's sleeping at the moment. I gave him mashed carrots. That always puts him out." She sat down in another chair as Meghan swiveled back to face the computer, resting her chin on her hand.

"Erm...Meghan?"

Still tapping on the keyboard, the brunette turned her head.

"Is...something wrong?" Faye asked.

Meghan thought.

"No, Faye, there's nothing wrong. Why do you ask?" she said calmly.

"Well...you just seemed a bit strange earlier, and I was wondering if you were feeling sick."

"Ha!" Meghan mused. "Trust me, Faye, if I were sick, you'd know it."

"Well, is something bothering you, then? Do you miss New York?"

"No, not quite yet."

"Then is there something else?"

Meghan smiled, and rolled her eyes.

"Faye." she said, "What nonsense is this? Don't you worry your genius head about me. I'm fine. Tough as nails, that's how I was raised. So let's be perky, okay?" Still wearing a smile, she gave Faye a soft, reassuring look.

Faye was temporarily distracted, thinking of how much, at this moment, Meghan looked like that smiling blonde in the blue photo album. Such a serene, soothing, radiant face. It was uncanny, really. But she soon came back to her senses.

"Alright, Meghan, if you're sure..." she said, unconvinced.

Meghan could tell that Faye was still worried, but for the time being, the questioning was over. She turned back to the garbled junk she'd typed on the monitor:

jrirtkrentuudgdjrb3tufhgsjeh5arbotadhhashoityrriuojjtjndbsgr8i7!$&(((!!

She smiled again, and held down the delete key. Faye stood up, and waltzed to the computer.

"Are you writing something?"

Such a short sentence for such a talkative girl. Meghan didn't like this version of Faye. Sure, she was hyper, but that was who Faye was. And strangely enough, the hyperness didn't annoy Meghan at all now, if it ever had. In fact, it kind of cheered her up. She had hardly been here two days, and already she'd grown used to the lighthearted chattering. She wanted some now.

"Actually...yes." Meghan replied. "I'm going to make a list, of all the best stores in London. Would you like to help me?"

Faye's eyes widened, along with an excited grin. "Oh, WOULDN'T I?!" And just like that, she was off.

Meghan beamed. She'd succeeded.

**Here's some advice.** If you want good food, eat at the Winthrops'. Seriously.

I mean, I know that the English have been stereotyped as being extremely picky eaters who survive on nothing but tea and watercress sandwiches, but I'm here to tell you: that is so not true. At least not for this family.

That night I had some very delicious roast chicken, with a side of carrots (the magic put-Jacob-to-sleep food, only these weren't mashed), and a dinner roll on the side. To drink, I got apple cider. Faye says that they have apple cider every Monday. Nice...something to look forward to on what's usually the worst day of the week.

"So, Meghan," Laurence quipped, "are you enjoying yourself so far?"

"Mmm-hmm." I answered. "Sure am."

He smiled.

"Very good. Glad to hear it."

I took another bite of my scrumptious food.

"I see you like the chicken." he said.

Looking up, I nodded. I did indeed like the chicken.

"I cooked it, you know." Mr. Winthrop stated, with a bit of pride in his voice. "Oh, hello, I just had a thought. How would you like to try some more of my cooking - at my restaurant?"

Faye practically shot out of her seat with excitement. "That's just what I was - "

"Calm down, Faye. Now, would you like that, Meghan?"

I smiled.

"I would like that very much."

Laurence seemed very much satisfied. "Good, then. How about this Friday night - it will be a special family dinner. What do you think, Emma?"

"Wonderful idea." replied the red head, a forkful of carrots near her mouth.

I concluded that this Friday night would be a very pleasant night, for me and others. Pleasantness - just what I needed. I took another bite of chicken.

"Awwck!"

Startled, I looked up. The noise had come from the den, where I saw crackers flying across the room. Yes, yes...

I was right at home.


	17. The Portrait

**It was early Tuesday morning.** A young man stood leaning against a stone wall, staring at a palm pilot. He looked up for a moment and scanned the busy area, then looked at his watch. He was waiting for someone.

All at once, a black car pulled up right near where he was standing, and another young man stepped out, dressed much the same as the first. He ran his fingers through his blonde, curly locks of hair and chuckled.

"Staring at that palm pilot again, are we, Luke?"

A smirk spread across the face of the copper-haired one who'd just been teased.

"What else am I expected to do, John, while I'm waiting for you to show up?" he countered.

"Well put, my friend. I suppose we all have our faults - mine happens to be tardiness. Yours happens to be stuffiness."

There was a grimace.

"Stuffy? Me?"

"It's true! Always with your nose in some book or toying with some object - you neglect to remember that not everyone has the funds to go blowing frivolously on unnecessary gadgets."

"Oh, don't give me that. You're as filthy rich as everyone else in this dump of a school, and you can't deny it."

The golden-haired boy shook his head.

"Honestly, I just don't understand you, Lucas Brenshire. You've got all the girls chasing after you, just the sight of you brings all the debs to their knees, yet all you can ever be bothered with is the day's agenda. Or if not that, then your fingers are glued to your guitar..."

He finally quit his jabbering long enough to notice that his friend's eyes were no longer fixated on his handheld device, but on something else.

Looking in the direction of the stare, he was puzzled to find that it came to a rest on a girl in Jasperstone uniform, walking quite a few yards from where they stood. He gave his friend a look of perplexion.

"Why are you staring at Faye Winthrop?"

At first, there was no reply. A thought process seemed to be taking place. Then, the curious one opened his mouth to speak.

"Faye Winthrop, you said?"

"Yes, the girl in braids. I believe her mother planned the Harrison wedding."

"Wait, no. Who is that girl with her?"

John looked again. He then noticed a rather petite girl with short, wavy brown hair in layers blowing in the breeze. She walked alongside the other who was initially mentioned, and also looked to be headed for JS Academy.

Another moment of thought occurred, as the more talkative of the two young men worked to place the girl's identity. Suddenly, he laughed.

"Oh, that must be the new exchange student from the States! The one who crashed straight into Clarissa Payne just yesterday! Everyone's been talking about her!"

John was given a funny look.

"Do you know her name?"

"Not...quite sure. Something with a K, I believe. Or possibly a T..."

Realizing he'd never get a relevant answer, the one with the gadget stopped listening. And it was just as well, because his friend's voice was soon drowned out by a loud, irritating ringing.

The palm pilot was put away, and the two boys straightened their navy jackets as they turned through the gate toward their place of education. For a second, however, the brown-haired boy couldn't help but steal one last glance...

**"You honestly expect me to go in there?"**

Two girls stood in front of a door with "Headmaster" labeled across it in bold, black letters.

"Why not? I was in there just yesterday!"

"I know, but the word 'Headmaster'...I dunno, it just sounds a little intimidating."

Faye pondered that for a moment.

"Regardless, Meghan, you have to go in there. To pick up your class schedule. You can't stay with me today - "

"I know, Faye, you told me that. But I'm a little nervous to go in there."

"Oh, bother, there's nothing to be scared of! Go on! Off with you!"

Faye even went so far as to give Meghan a gentle push, through the door as she opened it.

"Alright! Fine! Have it your way." Meghan smoothed her skirt and marched on in.

Inside, there was a desk, where a middle-aged woman with glasses sat reading something. Meghan walked up to this desk, still a bit apprehensive.

"Excuse me."

The woman looked up.

"Uh...my name is Meghan Reynolds, I'm an exchange student. I'm here to pick up my classes."

Immediately, the one with glasses smiled, and Meghan was instantly calmed. The smile was warm and welcoming.

"Ah, yes. Let me get that for you, dear."

Meghan was glad that the person giving her the schedule was not doing so with malice. She watched the sweet lady get up from her seat and go into a room somewhere in the back. As she turned to lean against the desk while she waited, and interesting sight met Meghan's eyes.

On the wall, right next to the door through which she had come, was a painting. This painting was a large painting, and was almost as tall, if not taller, than Meghan was. In it was a picture of a very regal-looking woman. And seeing this picture of such a woman struck a sharp note in Meghan's mind.

_Man...I __know__ I've seen you somewhere..._

The schoolgirl went closer. With each step, the woman in the portrait kept on with her dignified stare. She was wearing a lavender bluish beaded dress. Grey hair touched her ears, and a sparkling tiara graced her head. Meghan could even see a bit of a smile radiating from the woman's face, making her persona seem proud but not at all arrogant or cold. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a name, but none came.

Suddenly, a bit of a glint caught her eye. It came from a gold plate that was screwed into the wall directly beneath the painting. It was engraved. Meghan bent in to read it.

_Lady Jocelyn Abigail Landers-Dashwood_

_Graduate of the Jasperstone Academy for Girls_

_Class of 1951-1955_

Wow. That was a very long name. But it certainly gave Meghan her answer.

_This must be..._

"One moment!" she heard the woman call from the back. "I'm having a little trouble finding your papers."

"It's alright." Meghan said vaguely, eyes still fixated on the woman. Again, she had been hit with surprise. But this time, it wasn't so bad. She now knew what an honor it truly was to be attending this school.

_You have a granddaughter._ Meghan thought. _And I'm the only one in this entire country who knows it._

It was funny how people in this family kept turning up absolutely everywhere in Meghan's life. _Everywhere. _

"It's a beautiful portrait, isn't it?"

Meghan quickly turned, startled. She immediately saw the kind office woman, standing right near the desk with a schedule in hand.

"Oh, yeah, I - guess it is." Meghan answered.

"Such a wonderful woman. Was a Jasperstone student herself. She still loves the school dearly. Comes to visit about every few months."

"Visit?"

"Oh, yes. Loves to see how things are going. She's a very generous benefactor to the school as well. Donated three thousand pounds just last year, some scholarships too. It's nice to see someone actually putting wealth to good use."

Well. This was interesting.

"Here's your schedule, miss."

"Oh! Thank you." Meghan immediately took the paper.

"I wish you luck. It may be scary at first, but if you try hard enough, you should do well."

Meghan smiled.

"Thanks - for the advice, I mean." she said. She began to walk toward the door.

"By the way," she said quickly, turning back for a brief moment. "Are you the headmaster?"

The woman chuckled.

"Oh, no. That would be Mr. Raspron. His room is in the back."

Meghan's face went a little crestfallen. It didn't really matter,

though - hopefully, she wouldn't be coming to this office again.

She turned back, and looked at the painting one last time. Meghan smiled.

_I will meet you soon. I promise you that._

At that very moment, Meghan suddenly heard a crash in the background, and what she believed to be a British expletive. She ran out the door.

**You know what?** This is just great. Brilliant. Fantastic. Not.

Why the sarcasm, you ask? Don't worry, I have an excellent reason.

I just found out that I have to take a PHYSICAL EDUCATION CLASS. This is screwy for me, because I thought I'd been finished with that - ever since the eighth grade. See, at my high school, they got rid of the physical education class, because it was costing them too much money. Plus, they found out that the female PE locker room supervisor was actually a cross-dresser. But hey, that's what you get for being desperate, as they were, and hiring some new guy on the spot for a lower salary. I've heard that his high, girly voice was actually quite convincing.

ANYWAY, I'm very ticked off. Even Faye doesn't have to take this class, because her grades are so high that they let her opt out.

So today, I was given this very ugly PE uniform that consisted of a tank top and super short shorts. It, like my regular uniform, is navy and red. I asked them if I could wear sweat pants and a t-shirt instead - you can guess their reply.

And that's not everything.

I also found out that I, too, have Mr. Harlison. Though it's a lower level math class than Faye's, I'm still very annoyed because the level of math has no effect on the haughtiness of that idiot teacher. If anything, he's even worse.

I want some eggrolls. Please, somebody, get me some eggrolls. Or pizza. That will do.


	18. The Potatoes

**Well, hello there! Sorry again for the long wait, but a lot of events have been happening recently and the writing just wasn't fitting in. Finally, though, I was able to sit myself down and write some more, and now I'm back in the swing. I have a suspicion that you're really going to like these chapters, too - especially Chapter 19, which is short but very eventful:)**

Meghan walked into her fourth class of the day relieved to be out of the crowds. It was English class, with someone named Mrs. Blithe. As amusing as it was to think about that last name, Meghan was still feeling very irritable, and getting more irritable by the second. She'd just gotten out of her PE class, and was sweaty and exhausted.

Quickly, she looked for a chair. There was one near the front. She walked over and practically fell into it. Then, she put her head down, resting it in her arms. She was beginning to calm down when, all of a sudden, she heard sniggering not far behind her.

Meghan raised her head for a moment, and the sniggering stopped. She took a deep breath and lay down again.

More sniggering.

Again, Meghan raised her head, and that action had the same effect as before. She lowered it again.

When more sniggering commenced, Meghan finally sat all the way up, and turned to look behind her. Her drowsy eyes met the stares of three girls. With that, Meghan's condition went from bad to worse.

There she was. Yet again. In the middle, right at the back of Meghan's row, in between two of her very snobby friends. The blonde from the black lagoon.

"And just what are _you_ staring at?" the monster said with a smirk.

Taken by surprise, all Meghan could do was just keep on staring. Then one of them started giggling again, and they all joined in. Quickly Meghan turned away, and was now staring at the bustling teacher as she wrote on the board, apparently completely oblivious to what went on behind her.

The bell rang. As if struck by lightning, the teacher immediately turned around sharply with her back arched straight up. The class went immediately silent.

"Thank you." she said, as she picked up her roll sheet. Mrs. Blithe then adjusted her glasses, and began to read.

Now, Meghan didn't really pay attention to any of the names called, except that she recognized one name, "Cheridan Eves", as the girl who'd called her short. She hoped she wouldn't have to add that name to her list of enemies. Also, she hoped that this class wouldn't end up being a total nightmare, which is what it currently looked like.

She wasn't paying that much attention at all after that, until she heard another name.

"Meghan Reynolds. Is there a Meghan Reynolds here?"

Lazily, she put up her hand. "Right here."

She heard more noises from the back, this time more stifled.

"Well, good then." the teacher said simply. "On to the next one."

As Mrs. Blithe slowly droned through the entire roll sheet, Meghan wondered if she and Mr. Harlison had ever dated. If not, she decided, they should. They would be perfect for each other.

**"What **_**are**_** those?"**

Meghan stared down at her plate of so-called gourmet food, with a look of disgust on her face.

Her schoolmate, Faye, did the same, daring to poke at some very odd-looking dark green masses with her fork.

"Brussel-sprouts, I believe."

Well, as far as Meghan was concerned, Brussels could take back their sprouts. All of them.

"I ain't touchin' those."

Faye brought one of them up to her nose to sniff. She immediately recoiled as her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"It's very strange - they've never served these before."

Both girls immediately decided to push the alien vegetables aside and focus on the rest of their meals. They were of course surrounded once again by Faye's friends, along with the other exchange student, who came from the east.

Despite the rotten day she was having, Meghan was actually kind of enjoying the mashed potatoes she'd been given. She was putting her mouth around another spoonful when she suddenly felt a presence behind her.

"Hmmmm..." came a sort of sneering murmur. "Hong Kong, and the United States. Two countries that should still belong to England."

Oh, come _on_.

Of course, Meghan already knew who it was. Mouth full of potatoes, she turned to see one of her previously listed adversaries, along with several other girls who typically orbited around her.

Really, the conceited girl's lame attempt at a jab wasn't even worth any response at all, much less a witty comeback. Still, Meghan knew a reaction from her was just what the girl wanted. Like a mangy dog, drooling for a bone.

But even if she actually _wanted_ to give her that reaction, she knew that it was not possible. Not anymore.

Meghan looked down for a moment, swallowing her food to speak. A dull look came across her face.

"Hullo, Clarissa."

With those two words, everyone nearby was made dumbfounded. Faye looked at Meghan, and seemed almost frightened. Every girl at that table stopped eating, frozen in silence. And then there was that group of popular girls (or rather, one popular girl and the lucky few she allowed to be in her prescience), who all looked positively shocked.

But there was no one more shocked than Miss Payne herself.

"You mean, that's all you have to say?"

In response, Meghan just shrugged.

"I guess. Is something wrong?"

Her opponent looked as if she would explode.

"Don't play dumb with me you brash American slug -"

Meghan picked up her plate, holding it out to Clarissa.

"Want some of my brussel-sprouts?"

Now, Clarissa was in complete and utter disbelief, her eyes widening in a mixture of fury and surprise. This was very new to her.

"Take your food out of my face." She was losing her short string of patience.

"Okay." Meghan set the plate down and turned back to eat from it.

Almost ready to burst into flames, Clarissa on a whim decided to try another tactic. She looked at Faye.

"Lovely day, isn't it, Wiztrip? Tell me, did you father make the sprouts?"

Faye just stared. That really didn't matter to Clarissa too much, however, because her real interest lied in aggravating Meghan. By the little stunt yesterday, Meghan had just made herself Clarissa's new main target. Determined to get revenge for being knocked over and made a fool, the snobby blonde would stop at nothing to break that fiery spirit - and get a bit of a thrill in the process. And hey, taunting the friend in braids had worked before - why not now?

But Meghan just went right on eating meat and potatoes. There seemed to be no fiery spirit to break.

At that, Clarissa decided to make one last desperate attempt. She immediately grabbed Faye's plate, and daintily scooped up the mashed potatoes, the brussel sprouts, and the meat, bit by bit, shoveling it all into Meghan's bag. Faye sat there, helpless, while Meghan pretended not to notice. Only when the empty plate was set back in front of her friend did she turn her head to look.

"Oh! My gosh, Faye, you're finished already? Here, have some of my potatoes. They gave me too much anyway. Man, do you eat fast!" Instantly, more of the mushy substance that had been there before was plopped onto Faye's plate. Confused, Faye took a bite and sheepishly looked away.

Meghan then heard a very loud, frustrated noise. She saw Clarissa and her cronies begin to stomp away. But it wasn't quite over yet.

"I swear to you, I'll make you pay for what you've done! Do you hear me, Reynolds? You're going to PAY!!"

With that, she bashed through the double doors that led inside of the building. As the doors swung closed, Meghan was sure she heard someone clapping.

**I'm not quite sure** what to think about the incident just described, except that it sure was a pain trying to get all the mashed potatoes out of my bag. What a mess that was.

But really, I don't feel hurt. Sure, I would've liked to stand up to that wanker, but that would be sinking to her level, am I right? I said, AM I RIGHT?!

Seriously though. Mouthing off would not be responsible. And I have to be responsible. I promised Aunt Libby. And there's really no point in mouthing off anyway, except that it makes a person feel tough. Which is precisely why Clarissa was doing it.

See, I've got her all figured out. She just pushes people around to make sure they cater to her needs, which makes her feel special and somewhat respected. Those who rebel, Clarissa stomps on. And if I'm the only one who's ever rebelled...well, that's just pathetic.

It seems to be that way, though, considering how the world seems to come to a halt whenever Clarissa has a spat.

In New York, it ain't like that. Sure, fights get attention, but only because the vast majority of teenagers at my school are moronic barbarians who for some reason find it interesting to watch two idiots bash each other until some fat security guard comes and pulls the hyenas apart. Funny enough, girl fights are usually the most brutal. Or so I've heard.

As you know from an earlier incident, though, I can be pretty assertive when I feel like it. I actually got that from...well, my dad. He taught me to never back down, to stand up for whatever you've set your heart on. It was one of his strengths - that's why it doesn't hurt so much to talk about it.

And I know someone else who's that way - my one and only cousin, Daphne Reynolds. She's like me in that some things scare her to the point of crawling in a hole while other things are extremely easy for her to just confront and stare in the face. She doesn't like to hurt people's feelings, but when someone flat out wrongs her or crosses the line in any sort of way, she will get out the artillery and shoot their planes down, and those planes will crash, then burn, then explode, then decompose.

Get my drift?

And frankly, I'm not sure WHERE she gets it from. Both of her parents seem to be the most timid things on the planet, to either run away from people like Clarissa, or silently put up with them on a daily basis.


	19. The Business Card

**Wednesday morning.** On a very crowded street, a familiar young man stood in a familiar place, in front of one of the most highly-rated schools in the country. This time he was accompanied, however, by a friend of his who was much more punctual than his other friend John, and had been missing the two days before on account of a nasty sickness.

"So how did that flu treat you?" Luke asked his friend.

A disgusted look came over Ian Wallace's face.

"Oh, just miserable." he replied. "My grandmother came over once about every day to pour half a gallon of cod liver oil down my throat. She'd sit there on my bed to make sure I'd drink it, and as soon as she'd leave I'd run to the loo and heave it all up."

Of course, that got Luke laughing. He was not tinkering with his palm pilot today, due to the fact that he had someone other than John there to hold his interest. This friend had a lot more in common with Luke, due to their love of music and their strong distaste for the school they attended as well as the British aristocracy.

All of a sudden, he heard a faint yelling from down the street.

"Lucas, dear!"

He looked to see the infamous Clarissa Payne some distance away, madly waving her arms in the air.

"What's she shouting about?" he asked his friend.

Ian shrugged his shoulders.

"Who knows?"

Luke looked again and stared as the girl kept wildly waving.

"Do you suppose I should go to her?"

Ian smirked.

"Do you have a choice?"

Luke sighed. He began to jog down toward Jasperstone academy, where Clarissa stood with about six or seven of her closest friends.

He arrived, slightly out of breath.

"Yes?"

Clarissa smiled.

"I just wanted to tell you that I can't wait for Marcelle's coming out party this Saturday." She then stood up to whisper in his ear. "Especially since I'll have you to escort me."

She playfully ran her finger across his chin and pulled away, as the rest of her brood broke into a giggle.

Luke stood there for a minute. This was certainly not the first time something of this order had happened to him. And each time it happened, it got all the more pointless. It surely did not excite him that he'd have to spend yet another perfectly good evening with Clarissa on his arm.

He half-smiled and briefly nodded, then turned to walk away. Clarissa gave him a dainty little wave as he looked back for a moment, and at least half of the other girls joined in. The other half was too busy giggling. He turned back.

"You're so lucky, Clarissa." she heard one girl whisper as he walked away.

But oh, how contrary luck was for him, for that same reason.

At about that same time a familiar brown-haired girl was fast-walking in the opposite direction, heading toward the place from which he had just left, carrying quite a large load of books. When he caught sight of the girl, Luke slowed down a bit to look.

The set of black shoes briskly moved, and as the girl and Luke neared each other, he saw one of the shoes suddenly move in an awkward way, twisting to the inside.

Instantly, the brown-haired girl and her books came tumbling down. Papers spilled everywhere. Immediately, Luke turned and ran over to help.

The girl looked a bit pained as she rushed to gather up her things. When he came to her, Luke noticed the noise of approximately eight girls laughing hysterically some yards behind him. The noise grew more and more faint and eventually disappeared, however, as the group entered the school. He crouched down in front of her.

"Are you alright, Miss?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay." she said quickly as she busily gathered what she had dropped. With a jumbled mess in her arms, the girl stood up. Luke stood up with her, and they ended up staring each other directly in the face. Just now seeing the persona of the man who'd stopped to help her, the girl looked dumbfounded and shocked.

Luke handed her the rest of her papers, which he himself picked up.

"Here you are..." He looked at an identification card, which he still held in his hand. "...Meghan."

Embarrassment quickly overtook the girl, and she immediately turned away. She rubbed the back of her neck.

"I...I...uh..."

He handed her the card, and their eyes met again.

"Thank you."

He smiled.

"My name is Luke, by the way. Luke Brenshire."

The girl still looked stunned.

"Hello, Luke Brenshire."

She backed away a little, and began to move again.

"Well...bye." she said as she turned to walk away, cheeks turning bright red.

"Wait, Meghan!" Luke shouted behind her.

She turned.

"Maybe...er...maybe I can talk to you again." He came closer.

The girl looked puzzled.

"Like...where?" she suddenly blurted, not knowing what else to say. The redness deepened.

Luke thought for a moment.

"Well...how about here? Tomorrow. Only, you wouldn't have to fall down this time."

Meghan blushed more. Equally nervous, Luke thought some more, realizing he'd made a mistake.

"Or...maybe somewhere else would be better. Not so many...well, cars."

Meghan looked away.

"Look, I have a card. You can have it if you want. And you can call the number if you want to do something. I realize that's sort of rude of me, I mean, to leave you with a number and just walk away, but it might be easier for you than standing out in the middle of the road, and you can think of somewhere we could go. Maybe a park, if you'd like, or a restaurant, or I can take you riding, or to a store..."

Seeing Luke ramble made Meghan feel a bit less embarrassed, and she laughed. He stopped.

"You have a business card?" she asked him.

This time, it was Luke who rubbed the back of his head.

"Well...yes."

The girl put his card in her jacket pocket. She looked back at him.

"Well, maybe I'll use it." she said as she turned to walk away. Facing the other direction, a smile spread across her face.

"Alright, well, good then. I guess I'll see you." she heard from behind. She turned her head.

"Yeah, I'll...see you." she said.

His face mirrored hers, and he turned to walk back to his school. He arrived back to meet a grinning Ian.

"And who might that girl be?" he asked coyly.

Luke bent his head for a moment, bashful. Laughing, he looked up again.

"Well, the name on her card said, "Meghan B. Reynolds."

"And you think she's going to call you with that business card you gave her."

Still smiling, Luke narrowed his eyes at Ian.

"That's...what I 'm hoping, yes."

Ian laughed a bit.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she will. And when she does, ask her if she has a sister. For me, I mean."

Luke laughed.

"Hey, we can't all have a sweet little American girl to call our own." he teased.

Ian looked slightly disgruntled. Luke patted him on the shoulder.

"But maybe you'll get lucky." he said, before turning to enter the school, Ian following after.

**How did you like that? Told you Ian would show up! I already have the next chapter almost completed, so two more will be up soon. I might have skipped from Tuesday to Wednesday a little too fast, but that will be explained more next chapter. It will tell why Meghan was walking alone today.**

**Anywayz, that's all for now, and know that I'm sticking to this story till the end, even if it takes me years to finish it!**

**-rf-**


	20. The Unbelieving

**Hey, what's up? I'm back again - much earlier this time. Just a few shout-outs to my reviewers before the chapter starts:**

**Call Me Mimzy: You are SO awesome! I was overjoyed to know that my dumb old story brightened your day - it makes me feel important. :)**

**Mrs.Scott323: Glad you like it! And I agree with you - that'll be the best part!**

**Christine Writer: LOL. I suppose it could've been sweet & sour chicken. Maybe I'll use that later...**

**LLama77me: I love your reviews! Glad your reading my story, and may Whose Line live on forever in our hearts!**

**Okay, okay, on with it...**

Meghan waltzed into Jasperstone Academy. Her arms held a huge jumbled mess of dirty papers, along with a huge load of books that were threatening to slip through and fall to the ground, hitting her toe in the process. Her hair was messy and windblown; part of it hung in her face. One of her stockings was rumpled, and her bookbag had dirt streaked across the bottom of it, due to dragging on the ground for a brief period when she had stooped down to gather dropped belongings. And every girl around her, just as on days before, seemed to be either staring or snickering - or both.

But at the current time, Meghan didn't notice. Why?

Because the most charming boy in the world had just given her his number. Which was kind of funny, since usually it was the girl who would give a number in that situation, but hey - maybe more things were different here than Meghan thought.

Faye was not there at the moment. Her mother had taken her off to a doctor's appointment, leaving Meghan to fend for herself. Normally, Faye said, they would be driven to school, as they had been on Monday, and would be Friday as well. They'd had to walk on Tuesday and would have to on Thursday because those were the days Mrs. Winthrop always left early for work. But since Faye's doctor's practice was WAY on the other side of town, and since they'd had to leave a half hour earlier (school started at 8:30, the appointment was at 8:00), Meghan had been forced to walk to school, having no transportation.

And as if that weren't complicated enough, there were the books. Both Faye's books and her own had to be carried by Meghan to school this morning, because this morning was when lockers would be assigned. They'd been given their books yesterday. Meghan couldn't understand why those teachers couldn't just hold off on their assignments for one day, instead of making people lug their books around. But that's the way it had been. And that homework was certainly no picnic, either.

Making her way toward the line for locker numbers, however, Meghan was all smiles. Faye would be coming back later to attend her afternoon classes, and Meghan couldn't wait to tell her what had happened. She'd probably have a heart attack.

But even more, she couldn't wait to get on the phone this Saturday, to tell Daphne. That reaction was going to be even better. She could already hear her now:

_"__NO __WAY__! You did __NOT__ just snag an English guy!"_

And of course, it would be hard for her to believe. Meghan had never even been asked out by an _American_ guy. She and Daphne rarely attracted any guy's attention, except for that pervert Josh.

But this time, it had been different. The line was long, and the books were heavy - but Meghan's heart was soaring.

**This is crazy.** I've only been here for four days (five if you count today), and already so much stuff has happened.

Standing in the locker line I saw that idiot Clarissa about fifteen people ahead of me, laughing so hard that it looked like her head would come off and roll down the hall. I almost wished that it would - it's not like it would bother _her_, since it would enable her to shine her incredible beauty in two places at once. Frankly, I didn't see what was so funny - I mean, yeah, my hair was a mess, and I was holding on to a pile of papers for dear life, but all I was doing was standing there. Just standing there, minding my own business.

But no way was I going to let that faze me. Not today.

So I just zoned out into a daydream, imagining me and that guy riding off on a silver horse, into a flowery yonder. But then he started to look like Fabio, and I cringed and snapped out of it.

Still, I was in reverie. So charming. So helpful. And the way he had looked at me...just, wow.

In a way, he reminded me of someone. But I wasn't sure who.

Eventually, the line moved, and one by one, every girl in front of me was assigned a locker. When I got to the front, I was given the number for both Faye's locker and my own, but only one combination - mine. I would have to store Faye's books in my locker until she arrived, got her combination, and opened her own locker to put them in. Thankfully, hers was right next to mine.

I rushed to my locker, and when the books were inside, I quickly started to go through my messy papers. I knew that I only had a few minutes before the first bell, and I hoped that I hadn't left some of my homework out there in the street. Thankfully, it all seemed to be there, and I shoved it into my bag.

Then, the bell rang. As it had the two days before, crowds overtook the area. It wasn't as bad as it was on Monday, though, probably because people were starting to get more situated with their classes and where to go, and were less frantic to get there.

I shut my locker door and, now holding only my French book, joined the crowds. That's right. I've got French. For my first class. And let me tell you, it wasn't fun spending all of last night writing "Nous avons pas..." yada yada and "Je voudrais..." yada yada yada over and over. I had to recruite genius Faye to help me. She knows French pretty well.

As the masses enveloped me, I felt my jacket pocket to make sure that boy's business card hadn't fallen out while I was meandering in my locker. It was still there.

I brought my hand down, and in a few minutes arrived at my French class. The last two days had been bad, but maybe today would be better.

**It was once again lunchtime.** Meghan recieved some filet mignon, and went over to sit with Faye's friends, who began to ask her oddball questions.

"So, how do you like living with Faye?"

An inquisitive look came over the face of the questioner, Bridget. Meghan looked up and chuckled.

"It's good. There's certainly never a dull moment."

The others laughed, not knowing how very similar to Faye they actually were.

"How about this school? Do you like it?" Samantha asked.

Meghan looked to be in deep thought.

"I...I haven't been here long enough to get the full picture. I'm hoping my experiences here get better than they have been. I do like the atmosphere, though - very sophisticated. And I like the food...well, most of it anyway."

That seemed to bring up another subject.

"Oh, the nerve of that Clarissa!" Emily fumed. "Shoveling food into your bag the way she did. I'd like to take her face and rub it in the dirt!"

"It would probably hurt her more if rubbed her FINGERNAILS in the dirt, and ruined her perfect manicure." Bridget suggested.

Meghan just looked at them.

"One of these days, we're going to get her." Emily went on. "And she's going to wish she'd never set foot in this academy. One of these days."

She took an angry bite of filet mignon. Meghan wondered how much Faye's group was actually capable of.

Just then, she heard a voice.

"I'm back!"

The three perky girls popped up as if it were raining candy. They ran away from the table to meet their friend, leaving Meghan and her ex-colonial comrade Ayaka alone. Ayaka looked a bit frazzled. Meghan didn't blame her.

Within moments, they were all back at the table. Everyone gave Faye some of their food, for by this time, the lunch line had closed.

"So." Faye said to Meghan. "Did you make it here without me?"

Meghan kept looking at her food.

"Yes." A smile began to creep across her face. Faye latched on immediately.

"Oh, Meghan?" she questioned slyly. "Did something happen that I missed?"

"Yes." Meghan kept on eating.

The girls all started to get excited,, the most excited, of course, being Faye herself.

"Well, what?! What happened?"

Meghan still kept eating.

"Meghan?"

Still no answer. Meghan still kept smiling as she ate.

"MEGHAN! What are you hiding?!"

"I met a guy."

They gasped. Faye immediately went into hyperdrive.

"WHAT?! A guy?! Who was it, Meghan?! TELL ME!!!"

The girls all jumped around like they were spring loaded, all eager to know what Meghan was talking about.

"He said his name was Luke."

They stopped.

"Luke?" Faye repeated.

Meghan looked at her, puzzled.

"Uh...yeah." She handed Faye the business card. Faye's eyes moved back and forth as she read.

"I - I honestly can't believe this." she said.

Meghan was really starting to get confused.

"Can't believe what?"

Faye stared at the card.

"Luke as in...Lucas Brenshire?" She asked, eyes still on the card.

"I...guess. Yeah, that was his name."

Faye kept staring.

"Lucas Brenshire as in, son of Lord Matthew Brenshire? Great, great, great, great grandson of Morris Brenshire, founder of the Morris Brenshire School for Boys?"

Meghan stared at Faye.

"Uh..."

"Lucas Brenshire as in, the only aristocratic teenager more prominant in society than Clarissa Meredith Payne? Equivilent to her in popularity, well-known all over England, and the seventh generation in his family to attend the very school his great-grandfather founded?"

"Er..."

"And THE Lucas Brenshire, as in the object of most every girl's unreturned affection, the heartthrob that every girl longs for, and the one voted most likely to end up in Clarissa's wedding bed?!"

"WHAA?!"

Meghan grabbed the card, horrified, and read it herself.

"I...you must be joking. You have to be joking, Faye!"

Faye looked down, wide-eyed, shaking her head in disbelief.

"No, I think it is you who must be joking. Did you find this card on the ground?"

"No, Faye! I told you, he _gave_ it to me!"

"Impossible. I don't believe you."

"It's true! And he told me to call that number! Why is it so hard for you to believe?"

"Why?" Faye repeated. "_WHY?_ I'll tell you WHY. Because Lucas Brenshire is a filthy rich ultra-high-class member of the NOBILITY, and _you, _Meghan, are a lower-middle-class American exchange student who is here on a semester-long _scholarship. _And this isn't meant to offend you, Meghan, but according to the unsaid laws of the social structure, you are UNFIT to even be speaking with him. That's why."

Meghan just stared, speechless.

"And if that doesn't seal it for you," Faye added, "there's also the fact that Clarissa Payne is MADLY IN LOVE with him."

Angst showed itself once again on the faces of Faye's friends, and a bit on Faye herself. Meghan had no idea how to respond to what she'd just been told; she only knew that her dream had been shot down, fast and hard.

But finally, she was able to eek out a question.

"So...where exactly does that put me, at this point?"

Faye looked at Meghan, and her face softened.

"I'm sorry, Meghan. I went on a bit of a tyrade there. But the sad fact is...this is all probably just a cruel joke."

Meghan didn't want to believe her, really, she didn't. It had seemed real, genuine, and true. And lovely, so very lovely.

But Faye's explanation...well, it just made more sense.


	21. The Mess

**It had been yet another** disheartening day for Meghan, despite earlier expectations. Cruel jokes had certainly been played on her before - especially in her early years of high school. Boys would whistle and yell stuff along the lines of "Hey, Sexy!" or "Hey you! My friend wants yo number!".

But this time, she had actually been convinced for a short time that someone was really attracted to her.

Really, though, it wasn't Meghan's character to hang her head in sorrow. If it was all a joke, as Faye had said, then it was good that Clarissa had a crush on him - they'd make a good couple.

They'd be perfect.

Great.

Excellent.

And she would be all too happy for them.

Oh, so happy.

But now, Meghan found herself following Faye up some stairs, back up to her pink room. Faye was a few feet ahead of her, and entered first. Meghan heard a cry.

"Mercy sakes alive! What happened in here?!"

Meghan entered the room, and saw what Faye was screaming about.

"Wow."

The room was a disaster. Covers were pulled down and mattresses were moved. Papers were strewn all over the floor. Clothes spilled out of the closet. And every drawer in Faye's huge dresser was pulled out, with their contents thrown around inside.

"ANTHONY!!!" Faye screamed.

The door down the hall was thrown open, and Meghan heard loud rock music blasting out.

"What?!" A male voice shouted.

"GET IN HERE!!!"

Stomping.

"Yes?" He said, innocently.

"You did this."

"Did what?"

"I told you a _hundred_ times, I did NOT take your demo tapes! So STOP RIFLING THROUGH MY THINGS!"

Anthony looked thoughtful for a minute.

"Well, Faye, if you didn't take them, why do they keep mysteriously disappearing? Especially since _you're_ the one who despises my music."

"First of all, Anthony, _everyone _despises your music, not just me. If you even want to _call_ it music, that is. And secondly, did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, your TWO-YEAR-OLD BROTHER might have gotten into them?"

"Oh, don't even try to pin this on Jacob. I can see right through your little sensibility nonsense."

As they argued, Meghan examined the room further. Her eyes rested on a brown mass in the corner, and they widened when she realized that it was actually her giant brown hobo bag.

Anthony went on.

"But that's quite alright, Faye, really." he said coolly.

The bag was opened, and upside down.

"Might I ask why that is?" Faye asked him.

Meghan saw her lip gloss, along with her mini brush, some three feet away.

"Oh, no reason." he answered with a bit of arrogance.

Not far from the lip gloss, Meghan saw her passport, and the stub of her plane ticket.

"Well, obviously it's something. Otherwise you wouldn't be standing there with your nose rubbing the ceiling."

Near that sat her wallet, with her useless New York driver's license and more money that still needed to be converted.

"No, really, it's nothing. Just that even though I still have yet to find my tapes, I did find something else quite interesting."

Meghan was not well. Not well at all.

"Anthony, if you took anything from my room, I promise you I will - "

Meghan pounced on the bag.

"You'll what? I don't even think you - er, what's gotten into your friend?"

Faye looked to see Meghan frantically digging in her purse, and then turned piercing eyes back on Anthony.

"And that's what REALLY fries me. You went through Meghan's things, even though you don't even know her. I suggest you give me back what's mine and get out."

Anthony stared at Meghan a bit longer, then shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't worry, Faye. When I get my tapes, you'll get your diary."

Meghan stopped.

**"WHAT!!!"** Faye hollered.

"And in the meantime," Anthony said with a smile, "I will be returning to an old pastime of mine - bedtime stories. Courtesy of Faye Winthrop."

He started to waltz back to his room, until Faye wrenched his arm.

"Give it back, you snake!!"

"Your anger will get you nowhere."

"ACK!!!!"

Faye ran down the hall and into Anthony's room, immediately proceeding to paw through whatever she got her hands on, looking for her diary. Anthony calmly followed her, though he didn't look all that worried about Faye being in his room, especially since the object she was looking for was hidden deep in his jacket pocket.

Meghan was left just sitting there in the corner with her bag, its contents spilled out all over the floor. She stared at the door for a minute, a bit muddled by the incident. Her initial worry was gone - however, she still hadn't found what _she_ was looking for, and therefore wasn't completely relieved. She turned back to the bag to dig through it some more, and her worry grew bigger as she found nothing.

And then, she saw it. It had been underneath her bag. A white envelope, on the floor. Only one thing had spilled out of it - Daphne's school picture. Meghan picked up the envelope, and examined its contents. Nothing seemed to be missing. Meghan put the picture back inside, releasing her breath. She then let herself fall to the floor in a heap, among all the miscellaneous papers and a teddy bear here and there. She tucked the envelope into her jacket, and remained on the floor until Faye entered the room yet again.

"He thinks I didn't see my diary in his jacket pocket, but he doesn't know - I have a plan. Wait till he takes his shower tonight, Meghan, then I'll get it back. I'll - why are you lying on the floor?"

"Huh?" Meghan answered.

"Well...anyway, he won't see it coming. He thinks I'm dim as a doornail - I'll show him."

Meghan pushed herself up off the floor.

"What about his tapes?"

"Those tapes he made with his base guitar and a karaoke machine? Oh, I know where they are. They're in Jacob's room - he likes to pull the shiny ribbon out of them. I keep hinting that to Anthony, but do you think he'll listen? Oh no. He just wants to be belligerent. Thinks _I_ have his tapes, but what would I want with them? I mean, I do hate that noise he makes with his guitar, but there's no use in stealing his tapes, I know he'll just make more..."

Meghan hadn't heard most of what Faye had said - she was just surprised anyone actually used cassette tapes anymore, since everything had gone to CDs. Soon enough, Meghan surmised, there'd be some other high tech newfangled way of playing music, and it would be thinner and smaller, too.

"I mean, if he really wants to play so badly, why doesn't he take some lessons so that he could do it right? Honestly, the way he does it now - it's just horrid. Horrid, I tell you..."

As Faye blathered on and on, Meghan thought about other things. In particular, where to put that envelope to assure that it would really be safe. In one of the drawers? No, those had been gone through too. Under the mattress? No, that could be moved.

"And he doesn't seem to understand Jacob's utter fascination with shiny things..."

Finally Meghan caught sight of her book bag. The one with the Jasperstone logo on it. The one that she took with her everyday. Maybe that would be a safe place.

She looked toward Faye, who was facing the other way but still talking endlessly. The blonde was completely oblivious as Meghan quickly pushed the envelope down to the bottom of her bag. Yes, this would be good. During the week, it would stay in this bag, and on weekends, when she went out, she'd transfer it to the brown one. But she would never leave the building without one of those bags. She'd always know where it was and that no one was looking at it. And if she happened to run into a certain member of her school's alumni one day in the process - well, that would be all the better.

It saddened her, though, to find out that leaving important papers here, at the Winthrop's house, where she thought she'd have privacy, had been naïve.

**Why, I ask you,** do I keep ending my days with disappointment?

You may remember me telling you before that I can usually tell a lot about a person's character just by seeing them once or twice, how they act, how they talk. So why did my judgment fail me now?

And Faye is just full of surprises. I thought she was the ditsy one, the one who wasn't very sensible. But it was SHE who told me that my social class was too low for me to be in contact with this...Lucas Brenshire. I thought it was just Luke. That's what he said. I mean, he said his last name. But he said it like it was no big deal. And it isn't. Everyone has a last name.

I suppose I should have recognized it, though, as being the last name that was printed on the wall of that school down the road. My mind lapses sometimes, I don't know. But even so, why does it matter? The whole thing is ridiculous. Dividing people up because of their last names. Students, citizens, friends - and even family.

Maybe I didn't make it clear before how much this ticks me off. I've blamed plenty of other things as being the cause of Aunt Libby's problems, but this, my friends, is the true culprit - the social class system. People thinking they're better than everyone else because of the name they were born with. It's like no matter what happens, these people are on a quest to deny the ultimately indisputable fact that we are all PEOPLE, whether our last names are Brenshire, or Winthrop, or Payne, or Dashwood, or Windsor, or..._Reynolds._

But whatever. I'm just a Yankee commoner. What do I know?

**Okay, tell me - did I have you going for a minute? Or even just a second? Yeah, probably not.**

**In case you guys didn't know, I stuck Windsor in there because that's the actual "last name" of the royal family in England. I learned that when the princes were on Dateline. A little-known fact: they like to watch American Idol.**

**Anyhow, again I must say goodbye. Keep reviewing, I love it!**

**-rf-**


	22. The Crystal Spoon

**Here beith the next two chapters. Thanks so much to Mimzy, Mrs. Scott323, Christine Writer, and Litta for your reviews, I love them!!! So glad more people are reading, and that I was finally able to finish these and post them. Hope you like!**

Days passed, and eventually it was the end of the week. Oddly enough, Meghan hadn't had too much trouble with Clarissa for the next two days - just the now usual sniggering and pointing. Her previous threat had not yet been fulfilled. As for that business card, Meghan had almost thrown it away, but had at the last minute decided instead to stick it in the bottom of her bag, almost as deep as she'd pushed the white envelope.

But not quite.

So now, it was Friday. Friday night, specifically, and the night the Winthrops and Meghan had all planned on going out to dinner at Laurence's restaurant.

Meghan herself was in a pretty good mood at the moment. She was looking forward to the nice, quiet, peaceful dinner with Faye and her family - or maybe not so quiet, it was Faye after all. Even more than that, however, she was looking forward to _tomorrow_ night, when she'd finally get to call her family again. It would have been a week since she'd last heard Mom's or Aunt Libby's voice...and it had already been a week since she'd heard Daphne's.

All these things buzzed through Meghan's mind as she entered the restaurant, once again ignoring Faye's chattering. Laurence himself was already there, working, but he planned to eat with them when they'd arrived. So Meghan and Faye now followed Mrs. Winthrop and the two boys up to the front desk, where a waitress stood. Uncle Wallace had been too engrossed in a cricket match, and therefore wasn't with them. Even that grumpy old man wouldn't spoil this night.

"Why, hello there, Mrs. Winthrop. You've brought the family I see."

"I have, Nadine. And this girl, here..." she motioned for Meghan to come forward, "is Meghan."

"Good evening, Meghan." the waitress said, holding out her hand.

Meghan smiled and took her hand to shake.

"To you as well." she said. Meghan was surprised at her own politeness.

Nadine smiled brightly, and looked to Emma in approval. She then bent down and pulled out five menus.

"We'll need six." Emma pointed out. "My husband."

"Oh, my goodness, yes!" the waitress said, immediately bending to get out another one. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm feeling a bit off tonight."

"That's quite alright, Nadine."

The waitress handed them the menus.

"Right this way." she said.

As she followed everyone, Meghan gazed at her surroundings. The Crystal Spoon was brightly lit and elegantly designed, and at the same time, not too fancy. Hanging chandeliers graced each table, and there were fresh green plants everywhere. Meghan thought it looked a bit like a magical garden with walls - the restaurant felt peaceful and mesmerizing.

They soon arrived at their table, and Nadine motioned for them to sit.

"Laurence should be out in a short while, and I'll be back to take your orders."

The sweet waitress then turned and walked away.

Meghan was now feeling absolutely giddy, though she'd never actually use that word. She felt wonderful being there, and felt very lucky and grateful, glad to be welcomed into this country. It was the way she had felt when she'd first breathed in the fresh night air walking up to the Winthrops' house for the first time, when she'd looked through the photo album with Faye, when she'd first seen Jasperstone Academy and eaten in its beautiful courtyard, when she'd gone on that shopping trip and sipped tea at that charming little cafe..."

Meghan suddenly caught sight of someone staring at her.

It was a boy wearing an apron, wiping a table about eight feet away. He had brown eyes and black hair, and skin that looked like he'd been out in the sun many times. He looked like one of those surfer guys from California, the ones that say, "That was some knarly wave, dude." And those brown eyes were positively fixated on Meghan. She didn't know him, but he certainly seemed to know her.

When he saw that Meghan was looking, he quickly turned away and went back to his work.

Meghan kept watching him, and very soon he turned to look again. Of course, it was only for a second, before he turned away once more.

But Meghan didn't get the chance to stare any longer.

"Hello, all." said a familiar voice. Meghan looked up, and there stood Mr. Winthrop.

Everyone greeted him as he sat down and opened a menu.

"My, my, I wonder what I'll order from this fine restaurant. Don't tell anyone, but personally, I think it could be better."

Meghan and the rest gave him a laugh, even though they didn't really think his joke was funny.

When Nadine returned, everyone ordered scrumptious food. Meghan had pasta with bread, and it was delicious. Soon enough, however, she had to leave the table.

"Mr. Winthrop." she said. "May I ask where the restroom is?"

He looked up at her, questioningly. Then, he smiled.

"I think I know what you mean. That way." he replied, pointing her in the right direction.

That was sufficient, and soon Meghan was coming out of the small room, wiping her hands on a paper towel. Throwing it away, she saw a shadow moving at the end of the hall.

Meghan came forward to see the surfer guy, fiddling with a cart of cleaning products. He seemed to be having a lousy time of it, and all of sudden, a stack of white cloths fell to the floor, taking with them a couple of spray-bottles. Alarmed, the boy quickly bent to scoop them up, piling the cloths bit by bit on top of the cart in frustration.

"Need some help?" Meghan asked him.

The boy jumped, quickly dropping cloths back on the floor. He turned, and a look of recognition came over his face.

"No, I've got it handled." he told her. "I'm used to being busy."

"Oh?" Meghan pondered. "Is this not your only job?"

"Far from it." He bent down to pick up what he'd dropped, but kept glancing at Meghan.

Meghan stood there for a while, thinking.

"Do I know you?"

Setting objects back on the cart, the boy stopped for a moment. He leaned against the cart and gazed up at the ceiling.

"No." he said carefully. "But I think I know _you._ You know my friend."

Meghan cocked her head.

"You're friends with Faye?"

He looked at her.

"Who's Faye?"

That answered her question.

"The girl whose father you work with?"

"Ah! So that's what her name is."

Where had this guy been?

"Well, if you don't know Faye, then who are you talking about?"

A look of knowing came over his eyes.

"I believe you've met my friend, Luke."

Oh.

"I met him, yes."

He chuckled.

"Well, I bet you don't know that he's going absolutely _mad_ right now, that you haven't called him."

Meghan was instantly on the defensive.

"Look, whoever you are, I'm not going to play into your little game. I know that card was just a trick."

The teenager with the cleaning products looked surprised.

"A trick?"

"Yes, and you know it is! He's just a rich prince who gets whatever he wants. Why would he want me?"

Instantly, the boy understood. He looked at Meghan with understanding.

"Well, Meghan - that's your name, isn't it? - you've been mislead. The person you just described is not the person that I know. If you need proof, look at me! This apron, this cleaning cart - I'm not rich! But he talks to me."

Meghan was silent.

"He sees nothing in those girls who chase after him. To him, they're all the same. But he saw something in you."

She just looked at him for a minute, thinking some more as he started to go back to work. Then, she began to walk back to her table, but stopped.

"You never told me your name." she said.

He paused and looked up, smiling.

"Ian Wallace."

She half-smiled back. Funny, how this guy's last name as Faye's great uncle's first. Ian Wallace, Uncle Wallace...

"It was nice meeting you, Ian."

She turned around again and began walking away.

"Enjoy your meal." he called after her.

Meghan looked back as she walked.

"Sure."

And so, she went back to eating, and the boy went back to cleaning.

**Here it was.** Saturday night.Meghan had been sure to let her host father know of her approval of the restaurant. As usual, he had seemed quite proud of himself.

Now, it was finally time for Meghan to call her family. Just as she had done at one o'clock Sunday morning, she asked to make a collect call to her home country, this time at about ten o'clock at night. Much better.

She heard the ring tone. It rang twice before she heard a click, and a crackly voice came on the phone.

"Hello?"

Meghan identified the voice.

"Aunt Libby."

"Meghan! Sweetheart! I feel like you've been gone forever. It's been so different here without you."

"I guess I can imagine. Listen, is Daphne there?"

"Oh, Meghan, I'm so sorry - she's staying over at Lauren's tonight."

"I STILL CAN'T TALK TO DAPHNE?!"

"Honestly, Meghan, I have no idea why they decided to have a sleep over when she knew you'd be calling. But it's the honest truth, that's where she is."

Meghan sighed.

"Me and your mom are here, though. So at least you get to talk to _somebody._"

"That's true." Meghan was happy to have her mom and aunt, even though she was getting increasingly anxious to talk to Daphne. _Next week, I guess._

"So tell me. What's been going on? How is that new school of yours? We don't know anything about that yet!"

Meghan thought for a moment.

"Well, school is hard, but still good. They serve gourmet food and you eat it in a courtyard. And me and Faye and Faye's mom went shopping, and I got some cute stuff. Oh! I got everybody some pink berets really cheap, and I got Daphne a purse. I'm going to send them to you on Monday."

"Ooooh, sounds like you've been having fun."

"I have! Well, for the most part..."

"What do you mean?"

Meghan paused. There were things that she _wanted _to tell her...maybe if she said it just the right way...

"Well, see, there's this girl. Her name is Clarissa. I bumped into her by accident the first day of school, and she's had it in for me ever since."

"What? What's she doing to you?"

"Uh, well, she likes to shoot off insults with her popular friends, and she put food in my bag..."

"Oh, I see. She thinks she's queen of the school."

"She kinda is queen of the school."

"Well," Aunt Libby said, "tell her off!"

Meghan was surprised for a moment.

"Tell her off?"

"Yes. Tell her you won't take her nonsense anymore."

"Uh, Aunt Libby, that's not gonna stop her."

"Oh, it won't?"

"No, it won't. Because I already stood up to her once, and that's what made her mad in the first place."

"Well then. I say, take it to the next level. Tell somebody."

"_Tell_ somebody? Who? The teachers and staff members who just sit there and watch her do it?"

Her aunt was silent.

"Sounds to me like that school isn't very good at enforcing its rules, if the authority figures there know there's something going on and aren't doing anything about it. What about her family?"

"Huh?"

"What about her family? Do her trailer trash parents know what she's doing?"

"Uh...I don't know."

"Then maybe someone should tell them."

"Who?"

"You! Or your mother."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I just...can't."

Again, no one said anything.

"Meghan, you can't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid! It's just...it's not that simple."

She realized now that she shouldn't have said anything.

"Well, then, if you don't want to tell someone, you might just have to keep enduring what that girl is giving you. I can't help you any more than that. I'm afraid you're pretty much on your own."

Meghan, relieved for the moment, laughed a little at how ironic the situation really was.

"I'd pretty much guessed that for this, Aunt Libby. Believe it or not."


	23. The Locker

**The weekend went by quickly,** and for the sake of saving this writer's time and energy, no one did anything of particular interest in this story until this point.

The story resumes Monday morning, the beginning of the second week of school.

At the sound of the alarm, Meghan drowsily awoke and swung her arm to bang the buzzer off. Rubbing her eyes and yawning, Meghan became aware of a large, warm weight pressing down on her stomach.

She raised her head to see Benny the fat orange cat, staring her directly in the face. She smiled - this was the first time he'd done this.

But she knew she had to get up, and was besides feeling sweltering hot from the cat and all the blankets piled on top of her. She wriggled, trying to pull herself out.

The weight was too much, however, and she couldn't escape.

"Benny." she whispered to the cat, "Get off."

The cat just stared at her.

"C'mon, Benny, I need to get up."

He wouldn't budge.

"Benny The Cat, I demand that you get off of me right now."

With the third attempt being yet another failure, Meghan looked to the other bed, where her blonde roommate slept peacefully.

"Faye!" she whispered, louder and with urgency. "_Faye!"_

She, too, stayed still. No one was listening to Meghan this morning. Frustrated, she grabbed the teddy bear that sat on her nightstand and hurled it at the sleeping English schoolgirl.

Thankfully, her aim was good.

"Wha - wha - I'll get the buckets!" Faye yelped, sitting up straight in alarm and pulling off her pink sleeping mask.

Meghan laughed as Faye looked around and came to her senses, breathing heavily.

"No buckets, Faye. But could you kindly remove your cat, so that I can breathe?"

Shaken, Faye looked to her left, toward Meghan's bed, and smiled.

"Oh! Why, yes, of course."

Faye quickly got out of bed, and went over to nudge the cat off of Meghan's stomach. Even then he wouldn't move, and Faye was forced to bring up some cat food and set it at the foot of Meghan's bed. THEN he moved. Benny raised himself up and lumbered over to the food, strangely fast for such a large cat. And Meghan was free.

The two girls started their morning routine. They walked down the hall to the charming bathroom to wash their faces and brush their teeth. When they were refreshed, they marched like clockwork back to their room to make their beds. Faye set the teddy bear daintily back in its original place on the nightstand, before she and Meghan both tugged on their navy and red uniforms. They walked over to the mirror on Faye's dresser and brushed at their hair. Faye did hers in braids once again, and Meghan decided on a side ponytail.

Both girls went down the stairs and sat down for their first meal of the day. Laurence was reading the paper while Emma bustled around in the kitchen. Jacob banged his bowl on the tray of his high chair, as he did every morning. Anthony sat impatiently waiting for the breakfast he'd cram into his mouth, still a bit perturbed that Faye had, in fact, been able to retrieve her diary a few nights ago without him even cracking the cover. And Meghan could hear bickering from the den, over yet another cricket match. Or maybe it was the same one.

When food was set on the table, Laurence put down the paper, folding it neatly as Emma tried to take the bowl from Jacob. Anthony began shoveling spoonfuls down his throat, and was done before anyone else. He left for his college classes, and twenty minutes later, Faye and Meghan were finished as well. They got into the station wagon with Emma.

The red-haired woman drove at a pleasant speed, taking them from the middle-class cottages to the upper-middle-class suburbs, and then passing through into the upper-class mansions. The further they went, the more ornate and extravagant the houses became. More and more cars came into view on the road as the ventured deeper and deeper into London. They were now going into part of the main hub of the city, where gigantic buildings loomed, some of them landmarks known throughout the world. Places that people from all countries, including Meghan's, were at least somewhat familiar with.

But soon enough, they arrived at their destination. Passing by the Morris Brenshire School for Boys, Emma slowed down, partly due to the traffic buildup that was here every morning. She came to a stop in front of Jasperstone Academy. Were they to have gone further down the road, they would have come to the mansions of those who were not only filthy rich, but also played a part in running the country - places that the common citizen rarely cared to go, unless they wanted only to gawk at the enormous houses with their intricate courtyards. Gawking would be all they'd be allowed to do.

The station wagon that Meghan and Faye stepped out of looked stumpy and puny among the limos and luxury cars surrounding it. The car door shut behind them, and the vehicle began to weave its way back out again, leaving the girls as they ventured through the gates. Again, they saw other girls dressed as they were, gathered in clusters in front of the building, chatting away. They bypassed them and walked up the stone steps, into the school.

Of course, a slew of other girls were gathered around everywhere inside. These were the same crowds that had made Meghan nervous before, but she now felt a bit more confident as she marched on in. On their way to their lockers, Meghan and Faye met up with Faye's friends, whose lockers were right nearby. They arrived, and five out of six girls began turning their padlocks. The other girl (three guesses which one) just stood staring, perplexed. Where her padlock should have been, there was a plastic loop, binding her locker shut.

Meghan caught sight of one of the administrators as they walked by, and inquired as to the reason for this madness.

"What happened to my padlock?" she asked.

The administrator stopped.

"Oh, yes, locker #385. Someone requested your locker. You've been reassigned."

He took out a small piece of paper, with a number written on it.

"Right down the stairs and to your left. Your things are already there."

Meghan looked at the number.

"Um...okay." she said.

Faye and her confused friends waved goodbye as Meghan set out to find her new locker.

_Down the stairs?_ Meghan thought. _I thought there were only two floors..._

The regular stairwell only went up. But when Meghan looked, she saw another stairwell she hadn't noticed before, going downwards through a dark doorway. That had to be it. She stepped down inside.

The stairwell was dimly lit, with an odd buzzing sound that came from nowhere. There were about twelve steps. With every move further down, the bustling upstairs became more faint. When Meghan reached the ground, she turned left, as she had been instructed. Left was really the only way to go anyway, since to her right there was only a door that read "Employees Only".

It was a bit brighter down there than it was in the stairwell itself, but not much. The room was dank, and smelled rather like there'd been a sewer leak. There were no windows, only a lone light bulb in the middle of the ceiling. It was a very small room, about the size of Meghan's laundry room back home - and it looked a lot like it, too. Meghan saw mops, brooms, and other equipment leaning against one side of the room, with buckets and cleaning products surrounding them on the floor.

And there, on the opposite wall, stood a small set of lockers, about five of them altogether. Meghan looked at the little paper and, sure enough, the number that matched it was bolted to the front of the fifth locker. There hung her padlock, Winnie the Pooh stickers and all.

And it was the only padlock there - the other four had plastic loops.

_THIS is my locker?_ Meghan thought. Why had she been moved down here, instead of having her locker next to Faye, who was supposed to be her guide at this new school? Who had wanted her old locker? And this place - it was probably a janitor's closet. Lockers? Here?

Begrudgingly, Meghan stepped forward and began to turn her lock. With the right combination, the padlock immediately snapped open. Meghan pulled on the beat-up-looking door, and it creaked on its hinges. The locker she'd had at her school in New York had been better than _this_, even if it did have "Derek Waz Here" and "Lick my " scrawled on the front.

As the man had said, all of Meghan's things were there. She hoped that rats hadn't starting nibbling her books, and she half expected to see a tarantula crawl up from behind.

But instead, she saw a peculiar piece of paper drift to the floor.

This paper was folded in half, and didn't look like anything she'd put in her locker before. Maybe it was a note from another administrator, explaining what was going on in more detail. Details would be nice.

Meghan bent to pick up the paper, and walked closer to the light bulb to read it.

_Hope you like your new arrangements._

_This, my American friend, is only the start_

_Of your worst nightmare._

_My advice to you is to leave now,_

_And go back to the cesspit you came from_

_Before I, personally,_

_Put you in the gutter._

_You will learn your place._

_-C.P._

Well, that explained it. Meghan was distracted for a moment as she noticed that, where the initials were, the note had been previously whited out. Perhaps a mistake had been made in the process of writing this threat.

And Meghan had to admit, this threat did sound pretty creepy. But she knew that Clarissa had less power over her than she thought.

Meghan knew one thing, too, despite the creepiness of this note. There was no way she was leaving now. And if she really did end up in the gutter, so be it.

But her cousin wouldn't fall in with her.

**"That was very odd."** Bridget commented to Faye as she checked herself in the mirror that hung inside of her locker. "Why did they move Meghan?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Faye responded, as she pulled out a book and shut the small metal door. "Why would anyone want a locker next to me? I am 'Fray Windbag' after all."

"Don't you think it's strange?" Emily quipped. "I mean, none of _our_ lockers were reassigned."

"I suppose this must be a special locker." Samantha concluded. "The most fantastic locker in all the world!"

They all broke into a giggle. Their giggling ceased, however, when they saw two people round a corner, into the hallway. One was a school official. The other was an evil teenage girl.

The official was carrying a large load of books, while the girl was carrying nothing. They were headed straight for Faye and her friends.

"That one, right over there." the girl told the man who was carrying books. To Faye's horror, the girl was pointing straight at Meghan's locker. The two came to a stop in front of it, and the man put the books down and began to fiddle with the plastic loop, taking it off.

The girl watched him for a moment, then turned to the group, a satisfied grin spreading across her face.

"Why, hello, Washtub." Clarissa said politely. "Fancy seeing you here."

**There you have it! Tell me what you'd like to see happen, and maybe what you'd like to see done to Clarissa later in the story...**

**Soon you will see the ideas that swirl in my mind!**

**-rf-**


	24. The Payne in the er, Neck

**Okay, here are the next two chapters! Hope you like them! And thanks to everyone for their thoughts on Clarissa - I'll give those ideas serious consideration ;) **

I guess that small amount of time that Clarissa wasn't really bothering me too much was the calm before the storm, or something.

Because now, she was absolutely putting the kibosh on me.

I'll paint you a picture. It started in PE class, my second class of the day. I opened my other locker that was specifically for that class, in a room full of other PE lockers and other girls opening them. To my surprise, as I pull out my skimpy tank top and shorts, I find that they are absolutely destroyed. My tank top is cut into strips up to the collar, which holds the strips together, making it look like a hula skirt. As for the shorts, they had a big, gaping hole - right in the crotch.

All the safety pins in the world couldn't have fixed this mess.

I knew who had done it, though I didn't know how, since I hadn't told anyone my lock combination, and on top of that, Clarissa wasn't even _in _my PE class. There was only one explanation: a mole. In my midst. Most likely, one of her snotty friends. She certainly had enough of them.

To the sound of numerous giggles, I took the ruined outfit up to the supervisor, who had her own, special enclosure in the locker room.

"What have you done to your uniform?!" she barked when she saw it.

"Nothing." I told her. "Someone cut it up."

Of course, she didn't buy it.

"Right, I'm sure. You couldn't have possibly done this for the fact that you'd much rather wear "sweat-pants" and a "tee-shirt".

Oh, please.

"I really didn't do this. Honest."

She sniffed.

"Yes, well, don't think this little protest is going to get you anywhere. You'll just have to wear the spare."

"The spare?"

"The spare."

The crude woman reached under her desk, and pulled out a uniform just like the one I'd had before - only grungier, and about three sizes too big. Honestly, I could've fit two of me in that tank top. Both of my legs fit loosely through one side of the shorts.

And of course, there were no pins. So guess what I had to use?

_Scotch tape._

From my _book bag._

I kid you not. I had to fold the straps of the top and the sides of shorts, with three layers of tape, just so it would stick. Ridiculous, I know.

And as for the waistband, I had to use my _belt._ The belt I used with my regular uniform. And even then, the shorts wanted to fall down. So here I was, holding the shorts up with one hand as I plodded into the gym, where the rest of the class was waiting. Let me tell you, there were snickers galore. And not the chocolate kind.

I'm almost sure I saw someone take a picture with a cell phone, even though cell phones were BANNED from the premises.

And just my luck, the sport of the day was BADMINTON. Imagine me, jumping in the air, still holding on to my shorts while I try to smack a ridiculous-looking funnel thingy. I was a three-ring circus. People were on the floor, literally _rolling_ at how incredibly bogus I looked. Even the teacher was laughing.

Then, as I return to the locker room, sweaty and out of sorts, the supervisor comes up to me, trying to contain her laughter.

"Well now, I guess you learned your lesson."

One of the pieces of tape on strap of my tank top comes unstuck.

"Be sure to bring twenty-five pounds in tomorrow. For a new uniform."

I just turned, and walked to my locker. What else could I do?

My problems didn't end there. Not that I thought they would.

I go into Ms. Blarf's class, and sit in my seat. I hear giggles in the back.

"Reynolds!" comes that dreadful voice. "Millicent tells me you looked absolutely stunning in Physical Ed today. Tell me, how did you do it? Did you finally get some surgery, to fix that hideous face?"

I drummed my fingers on my desk.

"Just a tip, Marian." she goes on. "Wearing a gym suit that's too big for you won't make you look any less fat."

_You know my name. You know Faye's name. You know everyone's name, because you're just THAT nosy. So just quit the farce, already. _I thought.

But I didn't say anything. Because I knew that in about a minute, she wouldn't be able to throw any more insults for at least an hour. The teacher would start droning her roll call, write some past and present participles on the board, and expect us to use them each in ten sentences or something while she stared at her computer and ate bagels.

That's what happened. And we wrote. And it was quiet. And I was able to find a little solace.

But when the bell rang, and I got up, the solace was immediately shattered.

Laughing.

More laughing.

More infernal laughing.

"What's that on your skirt?"

"Look at that mess!"

Immediately, I drew in my breath. I felt the back of my skirt, thinking the worst. What I felt was some kind of gooey, sticky substance.

Ironically, it wasn't the worst. But it was pretty darn close.

"Miss Reynolds." said Ms. Bladder. "What in all this world possessed you to smear molasses on your skirt?"

So that's what it was. Of course, I couldn't answer. I just took off my navy uniform jacket, tied it around my waist, picked up my bag, and waltzed out.

**Meghan once again sat down **with Faye and her friends. She was in deep thought about how she was going to keep the tarantulas out of her locker, how she was going to get twenty-five pounds, and how she was going to get the molasses stain out of her skirt.

Of course, Faye and the rest had been puzzled as to why she was wearing her jacket around her waist, until she'd told them. So they were once again ranting and raving about how horrid and despicable Clarissa was, but Meghan wasn't listening. She already knew how bad Clarissa was - what she didn't know was whether or not she was handling her correctly.

She had something in her possession that could send Clarissa's empire tumbling down, that could end her tyrannical rule in an instant. But she had to go about things a certain way, and bringing down Clarissa was not the objective. It was just something that would inevitably happen. The real purpose of revealing the truth was to help Daphne - not to get revenge against her evil stepsister.

And it wasn't like she could just get on top of one of the tables and shout Daphne's lineage to the heavens. That would only embarrass everyone involved. No, she had to speak to someone privately. Either the man himself, or, as a second choice, his mother.

But how to even do that. They lived in a palace, really. With guards. And Clarissa. And big stone surrounding walls. And Clarissa. And iron gates. And Clarissa.

Meghan hadn't seen the residence in person, but Aunt Libby had shown her pictures. It was one of the few things that the woman had allowed her to see.

Anyhow, what was to be done? And would she have the courage when the time came to do it? As of this time, Meghan felt totally and completely alone. She couldn't talk to Daphne, and even if she could, how could she tell her _or_ her mother about the pending marriage, or about the evils that came with it?

There was nothing she could say or do against Clarissa Payne, because for the time being, she had no ground to stand on. With the way she had manipulated the whole locker situation, she could probably have Meghan expelled if she really wanted to. The odds were in her favor.

But Meghan didn't want to be expelled. Because despite all of the rising problems, she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay, more badly than anything in the world, she wanted to stay.

**Though Clarissa **was manipulating a lot of things, there was one thing that Meghan was manipulating: the mind of Lucas Brenshire.

He honestly didn't know what it was about her that was causing him to think this way. He just knew that no other girl had ever given him that feeling. It was five days ago that he had given her his business card, and he was nervous. He was almost sure that she didn't plan on calling at all.

Ian had told him that day, that he'd spoken with her. That had only made him more sure that she wanted nothing to do with him. But he wasn't quite willing to let her go. Why?

Because of the reason she wasn't calling. It wasn't because she wasn't interested, or because she'd thought he was rude. It was because she thought he was deceiving her. She thought he was just another snob who thought he was too good for her.

And maybe if she knew the truth about him, he might have a chance with her. Maybe things would change.

It was all about his name. _Brenshire._ Sometimes, he almost despised his name. It put him in a world he cared nothing about.

Sure, he loved his country. But he knew he wasn't fit for parliament.

And sure, he liked sophistication. But his kind of sophistication had nothing to do with caviar, or debutante balls, or stepping on "commoners".

His kind of sophistication meant being a gentleman, having an open mind, having knowledge but not being a know-it-all. The rich, frivolous, extravagant world he lived in was almost too superficial for him to handle. And he knew only a few people who understood that.

Something told him, however, that Meghan would understand.

So, he was going to try again. And again. And again. He wouldn't rest until she knew who he really was. He just wasn't the type of person to not care about someone thinking him indecent. Maybe there was something wrong with him for thinking like that, but really, he didn't care. If that was wrong, he didn't want to be right.


	25. The Visitor

**It was a little over a week** into the school year, Tuesday morning. The students were just starting to really readjust and get into the swing of studying again. It was a beautiful late-August morning, not cold yet, and not raining, as it often did in London.

It was a perfect day, Jocelyn thought, to visit Jasperstone Academy.

She woke up early as she usually did, before Clarissa awoke to get ready for school. Other than her son, no one in the house was ever up earlier than she was, not even the maids, or the butler. Oh, how she wished that Henry would get more sleep once in a while. But there was no convincing a workaholic like him.

She got out of bed and opened her bedroom shutters, letting the sunshine pour in. She looked out for a few moments at the beautiful courtyard before donning her robe and heading down for her tea, which she had every morning with an English muffin. Passing by the bedroom next to hers, she heard Glynnis snoring, and looked in to see her entire body spread out across the bed. Amusing.

The next room down was Clarissa's. That room emanated the overpowering smell of Clarissa's perfume, which she often liked to spray everywhere. Jocelyn put her hand over her nose - she was prone to perfume headaches.

The next room was where Clarissa's grandfather, Alistair, slept. He had a love for keeping doors and windows constantly closed, to give him a darker, stuffier environment. To each his own, Jocelyn supposed.

Then, a little further down the hallway, she came to Henry's office. That door, too, was closed. But Jocelyn could see bright light shining from underneath. She smiled. He was working now, but in about two hours, he would be downstairs, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Today, however, she would be gone by then. She'd leave him a note.

Her tea and muffin were both delicious as usual. Now she was back in her bedroom, in front of the mirror. Decked in a pastel blue-colored dress suit with white heels, she worked the clasp on the back of a long strand of pearls that hung around her neck. It matched her dainty pearl studs, and Jocelyn was satisfied with the outfit. She finished off with a bit of lipstick and blush, and a cream-colored hat with a blue silk flower.

She then headed back down to write her note. By this time, Clarissa was downstairs as well, dressed in her Jasperstone uniform and reeking of perfume.

"Good morning, Clarissa." she said warmly.

"What happened to all the sugar?" Clarissa immediately

demanded. "There's not enough left to put in my tea."

Jocelyn thought for a moment.

"Well, we must have used it all. We'll just have to get some more."

"Mary should have refilled it a long time ago. Incompetence. Sheer incompetence."

Jocelyn sighed, and sat down to write.

"I'm going with you to school today." she told the sugar deprived girl.

"Fine, fine, just fine." Clarissa said vaguely.

A half hour later, the two of them were seated in the back of a shiny black luxury car. As they always did on Jocelyn's visits, they had left about twenty minutes early, to arrive before most everyone else. They both entered the school, where they were immediately met by one of the administrators.

"Mrs. Dashwood! What a surprise!"

The pair was immediately taken to the teachers' lounge, where they were given scones, and tea with plenty of sugar in it.

A short time later, it was time for Clarissa to go to class. A while later, Jocelyn would start her tour. She would be led by another administrator through some of the classes, and then she'd walk with Clarissa at lunch.

But for now, she'd just sit here sipping tea. No hurry, no hurry at all.

**"She did WHAT?!"** Faye exclaimed.

"She stuck bubble gum in my gym shoes." Meghan replied. "Or, well, she had someone else do it."

"Oh, how dreadful!" Bridget cried.

"It wasn't that bad. I just had a little trouble getting my feet out of them without my socks coming off. They were really stuck. I still don't know how somebody keeps breaking into my locker."

Thankfully, Meghan had been able to acquire the twenty-five pounds from Emma, who had been very understanding and generous. Emma had also known just how to get the molasses out of Meghan's skirt.

"Secret recipe from the old country." she had said of the special stain-removing mixture she had used.

Now, Meghan wondered if Emma would be able to get the gum out of her gym shoes, which she now had in her book bag. Her PE clothes were in there as well - she wasn't taking the risk of leaving them in her locker again. At least, not until she was able to prove that it was being broken into.

"I've decided." Emily said, as she took a bite of peas. "We have to get her. Somehow, we're going to do it. We just have to come up with a plan..."

"Speak of the devil." Samantha said, looking up. "There she is now - and Lady Dashwood's with her!"

Meghan froze. Faye and the others turned to look.

"Oh, my, she is! And what a lovely hat!" Faye swooned.

"I'm partial to her shoes." Bridget commented.

A few feet away...

"So there you have it, Grammy-dear." Clarissa said, more to her cluster of friends that followed than to Jocelyn herself. "Everyone eating lunch at our lovely school."

No one saw it, but Jocelyn almost rolled her eyes. Clarissa was acting artificial, which is what she usually did in public. But if Jocelyn had rolled her eyes, they might not have caught sight of a girl with wavy hair, quietly eating a short distance away. She saw four other girls surrounding her, one being Asian, quickly turn away when she caught them looking. When one girl in braids carefully stole another glance and realized that she wasn't the one being looked at, she fixed her gaze back on Jocelyn.

"Clarissa." the woman said, "Who is that girl, over there?"

Clarissa tore herself away from her friends for a moment.

"What girl?"

"That one." She pointed to Meghan.

Clarissa scowled.

"Oh, that's just the mindless American exchange student who slammed into me on the first day of school." she said, disgusted.

Jocelyn kept looking.

Back at the lunch table...

"Meghan, do you know that Lady Dashwood is staring right at you?" Faye quipped.

Meghan looked up for a second.

"Well," she answered, "I know now."

She went back to her food.

"Faye's right." Samantha said. "She's just fixated on your face."

"Yeah, well, that's nice."

Again, the group was stunned.

"Aren't...aren't you going to go and speak to her?!" Faye wanted to know."

"Why?"

"Because...because she's Jocelyn Dashwood!"

"Oh. That's nice."

Faye just sat there, speechless.

"Why are you staring at her?" Clarissa questioned. "She _crashed_ into me. She's nothing but rude and inconsiderate. Forget about her."

_Funny, I seem to know of someone else who is rude and inconsiderate._ Jocelyn thought.

"Why don't you call her over here? I'd like to speak with her."

Clarissa eyes grew as huge as microwave burritos.

"What?! Her?! You want to speak with _her?!_"

"Yes. So, if you please."

"REYNOLDS!!!"

Begrudgingly, Meghan raised her head and looked in Clarissa's direction.

"Get over here!"

_Reynolds..._

"Clarissa, you could be a little more polite."

"Why? If you want me to converse with an American, then I'll act like one, too."

"I told you. I told you she wanted to talk to you." Faye said, excitedly.

"Or maybe, perhaps, I'm just going to get another round of insults from the blonde witch. What, Faye, do you think is more likely?" Meghan asked, as she pushed herself up and turned to walk. She had to poke at the genius - it was all that kept her from having a nervous breakdown.

Meghan walked straight as a rod, one decided step in front of another. She made herself smile brightly. Then, everything became very, very slow. Scowling Clarissa disappeared, taking the rest of the world with it as Meghan's eyes met Jocelyn's. She edged closer in a daze. Here...here things could drastically change.

"WATCH OUT!!!!!" she heard, from a familiar perky blonde.

"No, Marcelle, not now!!!" she heard another blonde hiss frantically.

In the course of a lengthy second, Meghan turned her head the slightest bit, and her smile faded, and she drew in the tiniest breath, before something flew through the air, anticipating Meghan as its landing point...

_Splash_

Meghan woke up from her daze, soaked in a bright red liquid. She sputtered and coughed, and drew up her hand to pull wet hair from her face.

Normally, this would be the part where everyone in the immediate vicinity would break into uproarious laughter. Now, however, the only person laughing was the prank's instigator, Marcelle, who had apparently been dropped on her head as a child. Everyone else was dead silent.

In a few seconds, the dense one finally caught on to what she had done. With Lady Dashwood and everyone else staring at her, Marcelle quickly turned to Clarissa.

"But you told me! You told me to throw the punch on her as soon as she left the table!" she whined.

Everyone's gaze turned on Clarissa. Quickly, she folded her arms and stuck her nose in the air.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." she stated with arrogance. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing?"

Marcelle was quickly taken away by yet another staff member, all the while shouting, "But Clarissa told me to! It was her idea!"

With that, everyone now turned to Meghan, waiting for her reaction.

Meghan just stood there for a moment, shivering, not sure what to say. Finally, she looked Lady Dashwood in the face once again."

"Excuse me." she said simply, before turning in the direction of the ladies' room and plodding away, shoes making squishy noises as she went.

It was the second time Jocelyn had seen that girl turn and walk away.

**There you have it! It was Jocelyn who saw Meghan that day in the crowd. Free Coco Puffs for everyone anyway though - you deserve it!**

**Next two chapters will be up this Saturday! Look for them:)**

**-rf-**


	26. The Pink Daisies

**Well, it's Saturday! And believe it or not, I have in fact posted the next two chapters! (Look out your window, you may see a pig fly by). REALLY hope you enjoy them!**

**Mrs.Scott323: Ha, I get what you're saying. Actually, I'm kinda getting sick of Clarissa too - I just put emphasis on her those two chapters to show just how evil she really is. But you'll be happy to know that the story's main focuses from here on out will be on Luke, and more so later, the Dashwoods. Clarissa will still be poking her evil head in every now and then, but she won't be monopolizing any more chapters. ;)**

Meghan rung her hair out into the sink, and pressed her hands on the ledge in front of the ladies' room mirror, leaning forward. She took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. Suddenly, she heard the door push open. She quickly turned away.

"Faye, I don't want to talk about it." she said.

When she didn't hear the door close, she closed her eyes and crossed her arms, walking to the wall.

"Are you sure?" came a voice that wasn't Faye's.

Meghan's eyes popped open.

"Who're you?" she asked, still facing the wall.

"I'm an old woman, who's very concerned." the stranger replied.

Meghan turned around to a sight that made her want to tremble. Someone dressed in a blue pastel suit, with pearl jewelry.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"...Yes."

The woman advanced, and held out her hand.

"My name is Jocelyn. What's your name?"

The wet girl took her hand.

"Meghan." she answered.

"Well, nice to meet you, Meghan." Jocelyn said with a warm smile.

Meghan's face softened as she smiled a little as well.

"Nice to meet you, too."

They let go, and the woman folded her hands in front, looking regal once again.

"So what brings you to England?" she asked.

Meghan looked up to answer.

"I won a scholarship."

A look came over Jocelyn that reminded Meghan of how her mother had reacted when she'd opened that letter.

"My! A scholarship? Congratulations! You must be a good student."

Meghan shifted her gaze.

"Actually, no, not really. I just wrote an essay."

"Oh, well, it must've been a great one, to be good enough to bring you here."

"I guess."

There was a pause. Meghan turned to lean on the ledge once more.

"I'll tell you one thing: you're a very mature young lady."

Meghan looked at Jocelyn again.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, confused.

"The way you handled that incident just now. You took what was dealt to you, and walked away with dignity."

Meghan kept looking, and she smiled again.

"Well, I'm glad you thought I handled it well."

"Oh, very much so." the woman replied. "But I must ask you - why didn't you yell at them when you had the chance? They certainly deserved it."

Meghan turned away, and thought for a moment.

"Because I didn't feel that I had too." she turned back to Lady Dashwood. "I'll go home, and I'll wash my hair and clothes, and I'll go to bed, and get up to come back to this school tomorrow morning. That's how I'll stand up for myself."

Jocelyn just stood there for a few moments, looking at the girl, in great admiration of what she'd just heard. She looked straight into her face, her eyes, her persona, and decided something in her mind. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Well, I'm very, very glad to hear that, Meghan." she said. She then turned to walk to the door, and opened it, looking at the girl with another warm smile. And no one said another word as she walked out. Really, there was nothing they could've said that would have fit better than the knowing, comforting silence.

**Though Meghan's hair** and clothes were a sticky mess, she came out of the school building in a joyful mood. She had spoken with THE Jocelyn Dashwood. Which wouldn't mean much to the great majority of American teenagers, but it meant the world to her.

Faye, however, was rather sour.

"Meghan, I do NOT understand you. You stood up to Clarissa once, when she merely insulted us in a hallway. But she can shovel potatoes into your book bag, move your locker down with the rats, have her minions cut up your clothes and put used gum in your shoes, trick you into sitting in molasses, and HUMILIATE you in front of LADY DASHWOOD - and you say nothing."

Emily, Bridget, and Samantha all felt the same way, though Ayaka, as usual, just kept on as a silent observer. Meghan wondered when that girl was ever finally going to say something. But to the ones who _were _talking, Meghan said this:

"It doesn't matter, you guys. It just doesn't matter."

"How can you say that?!" cried Samantha, aghast. "She needs to be stopped!"

"Well," Meghan told her, "one of these days, Clarissa is going to fall on her face, and the whole world will be there to laugh their heads off. You just have to let things run their course."

"Fine for you, Meghan. But I, for one, am tired of waiting. Clarissa needs to be punished."

Meanwhile, the subject of the girls' conversation was walking with her cronies a short distance behind. Jocelyn had left after lunch, as she usually did, to be home for high tea. But she hadn't left before promising Clarissa a swift punishment for what she'd done, which would be dealt as soon as it was thought up. But the blonde girl really didn't care, however, because she had still gotten to see Meghan drenched in the drink of the day. Whatever petty, miniscule punishment she'd recieve would be worth it.

Needless to say, she had a huge, devilish grin on her face as she walked out of the Jasperstone gates to wait for her chauffeur. While she waited, she entertained herself and her friends by throwing her usual insults at anyone within the general area - until she caught sight of Lucas Brenshire, walking in her direction. Her devilish grin turned to one of ditsy, sugary sweetness.

_He must be coming to ask if I'll have him as my escort again, for the next ball._ Clarissa thought to herself.

"Luke, darling!" she squealed as he approached her. "I had a wonderful time last Sat - " she stopped. Luke had gone right on walking.

Puzzled as to why she had been overlooked, Clarissa turned around - to see him walk right up to...

"Meghan!"

The sticky girl turned, to see the boy she'd met before standing right in front of her. She smiled, stunned to see him, while Faye's mouth hung open with her friends' in disbelief.

"Uh, hi."

"Hello." he said, smiling right back at her. "My friend Ian told me why you haven't called."

Suddenly, someone shrieked. They all turned to see Little Miss Payne, shaking with fury. They saw her stomp off, in a rage, back through the school gates.

Luke chuckled, turning back to Meghan, only to see that her smile had faded.

"Wait." he said. "You didn't think that...her and I...you know...did you?" he asked her.

Meghan looked down.

"Well, that's certainly what it looked like." she said.

"I don't like her. I like someone else." he stated earnestly.

Meghan looked back up at him.

"Who?"

He smiled again.

"Well, she has wonderful, wet brown hair, a sweet, gentle voice, and an amazing smile." he told her. "And every time I see her, she makes feel happier, because she's something real in a world of lavish illusion."

Meghan smiled a misty smile without thinking, looking into Luke's deep brown eyes, as the station wagon pulled up right beside her. Faye opened the door to the backseat.

"Meghan." she said.

Meghan turned to Faye for a second, and then turned back to Luke.

"I - I have to go." she told him. And there he stood, watching her as she climbed into the car that would take her away. Then he turned to walk, back down to the school his great-great-great-great grandfather had founded, trying to think of where he'd go from here.

**Meghan was back** at the Winthrop residence, in the dainty sitting room, doing homework and thinking.

Jocelyn Dashwood was Henry's mother. That meant she had to have been there when he and Aunt Libby were in love. And seeing as Clarissa had shouted her last name at the top of her lungs, Meghan knew she was on Jocelyn's radar.

She couldn't believe it. She'd been here a little over a week, and already, her existence was known to Daphne's grandmother. Meghan knew she had to have been right that night in the bedroom, by saying that the time had come. Things were starting to happen.

Why, then, did Meghan feel so nervous?

Because that's how she felt. Nervous.

And then, there was Luke. _Luke. _His name sounded so wonderful. And he himself was sweet and sincere. Even the skeptical Faye was beginning to change her mind.

"Did you see that smirk on his face when he saw Clarissa storm off?" she had said, amazed. "Unbelievable."

It _was_ unbelievable. For someone who sat at the top of the social ladder to take notice someone who was being smashed underneath it, and think that person to be his equal.

"Meghan?" Emma called.

"Yeah?"

"Would you be a dearie and go out and get the mail fer me?"

"Okay." she said, walking to the door. She opened it to go out to the mailbox, but was stopped in her tracks.

Meghan bent down to pick up a small bouquet of flowers - pink daisies, to be exact, with a small card attached. She took the card out of its little envelope, and held it in the sun to read.

Meghan -

Maybe this will help to prove it to you...

I meant what I said.

-L.B.


	27. The Advice

**For three days after that,** Luke waited and thought, watching Meghan enter her school each day, and come out each afternoon. She'd catch him watching, and their eyes would lock for a few seconds, before she'd hastily turn away. He could tell that she was still reluctant to trust him.

So, on Friday afternoon, after watching that station wagon roll away yet again, Luke decided that he needed some help.

This decision was made as he stepped into his limousine, after a useless conversation with John, who was on his third girlfriend that week. He opened his palm pilot and checked his schedule for the rest of the day, to see if there'd be time - that was just something you did when you were Morris Brenshire's great-grandson. He was satisfied to see that for a while, he was clear.

Luke's car drove him in the opposite direction of where that station wagon had gone, into the aforementioned upper-class area. Within moments Luke saw sprawling mansions with their gates and courtyards. This didn't faze him; he was used to it.

When they arrived in front of one particularly huge mansion, with "Brenshire" etched in script on a sign bolted to the surrounding stone wall, Luke's driver started to slow down, preparing to turn into the drive as soon as the gates were opened.

"No." Luke told him. "Keep going."

Immediately, the driver understood. He signaled to the guard, telling him not to open the gate, before driving right on down the road.

They didn't have to go far before Luke arrived at his destination. Another guard stood out in front, behind similar-looking gates, that opened immediately to let the car through.

The boy got out, and thanked the driver, who would wait for him outside. He then walked up to the door, and rang the fancy-sounding doorbell.

The door was answered by a bald-headed man in a penguin suit.

"Master Luke." he said. "What a pleasant surprise."

Luke nodded and followed the butler inside.

"Are you here to see Miss Payne?" the man inquired.

"Actually, no." Luke answered.

A sly half-smile showed itself on the butler's face - he had already known the answer to that question.

"Right this way, then." he said, waving Luke along.

**Henry was slumped over his work,** reading, as usual. Going over things to make sure they made sense. Rewriting things to have them make more sense. Taking a swig of coffee every three minutes.

Oh, what was this? A knock on the door?

"Mother, I'm busy." he said, gently but loudly enough to hear.

"It's Master Luke, sir." came the reply. "He's here to speak with you."

He pondered a moment. Maybe a little break couldn't hurt.

"Alright, come in, come in." he told them.

The door opened, and the butler showed Luke in, before walking off down the hallway to tend to other butler things.

"Well, hello, Lucas." Henry said, in a bright yet exhausted greeting.

"Hello, Lord Dashwood." Luke responded as he sat down.

"Now you know I've told you a hundred times - call me Henry."

"Well, when you stop calling me 'Lucas', maybe I will."

The man smiled.

"Fair enough." he acknowledged. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Luke hesitated for a second.

"Well, I was hoping that you might possibly give me some advice."

Henry looked down and chuckled.

"Me? Advice?" he asked, puzzled. "Are you sure you've got the right person?"

"I'm quite sure, yes." Luke answered. A small smile appeared on his face.

"Well, alright then. What advice would you like?"

Luke thought.

"This is going to sound strange." he said, choosing his words carefully. "But it's concerning someone of the opposite sex."

Immediately, Henry grinned, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, my, isn't this a surprise! A girl for Lucas Brenshire. Now that's something you don't see very often."

"Uh, right, not too often." Luke said, still a little hesitant. "But see, this is a little different."

"Really. How so?"

"Well, she's actually not from here."

Henry rubbed his chin, and pondered.

"Yes, that's probably why you're fond of her." he answered knowingly. "Where's she from then, Yorkshire?"

"No."

"Dartmoor?"

"No."

"Birmingham?"

"No. She's from New York."

The man stopped for a minute.

"New York, the state? In America?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. She really _isn't_ from here, is she?"

"I told you."

"And you're madly in love with her."

Luke looked down.

"Well, I wouldn't say _madly_, exactly."

Henry chuckled again.

"Oh, trust me - if you're talking to _me_ about a _girl_, it's madly."

"Well," Luke said, "the feeling isn't mutual."

"Oh?" came the response. "Why is that?"

Luke paused, again.

"Well, in short, she thinks I'm too good for her."

Silence. Henry ran his fingers through his hair.

"Is that so?" he finally said, more exhausted than before.

Luke sat there for a minute, watching intently as the man thought.

"Uh, Lord Dash - I mean, Henry?"

"Yes?"

"Do you...have any suggestions?"

"Oh, right. Well, uh, _Luke_, this kind of thing is very unlike you. I have a feeling you're quite serious about it."

The boy nodded.

"And if that's true, the best suggestion I can make is to, er, really let her know. Of your feelings, I mean."

Luke was quiet.

"How is that done?"

Henry thought intently.

"Well, something special, I should think. Perhaps."

"Like what?"

Silence.

"Sir?"

"Take her riding." Henry immediately declared.

A pause.

"W-what?"

"Take her riding. Now, if you'll excuse me, my coffee mug seems to be empty, and I find I simply must refill it."

Henry then examined the inside of the cup for a few more seconds, before standing up. He walked out, staring into space.

Luke was left there alone, a bit confused.

"Alright." he said to nobody.

Just then, he saw the butler walk by the open door. Having seen Luke in the office alone, the man backed up and looked in.

"That man doesn't get nearly enough sleep, does he?" Luke asked.

The butler shook his head.

**Man, I really**loved that look Faye got on her face when Luke approached me, and said what he said. When she realized that her geniusness had failed her this time.

I am, however, glad that she gave her input on the matter. I'm grateful, because I know she was only trying to protect me.

And although she had been wrong about the whole thing being a trick and all, there were still a few things she was right about. Like about it being unheard of for someone of his status to be interesting in someone...well, of my status. At least, _publicly_ unheard of.

And she had been right about Clarissa crushing on him, that's for sure.

For these reasons, the reasons she's right, I am reluctant. Reluctant to be involved with Luke. I have two different parts of me telling me two different things.

The first part, honestly, feels quite strongly for that brown-haired boy. I know this because every time I see him, looking at me, all I really feel inclined to want to do is stand there and stare back. Stare back until one of us decides to come closer and make contact. And then, maybe I could talk to him, be around him, come to know him.

It is because of the second part that I turn away in haste. The part that tells me that getting involved with Luke is only going to make me get hurt. The part that says I'd be dancing around a wildfire, when the whole reason I'm here is to light a steady flame for someone else's happiness.

Does that make sense? I'm trying to be sensible about everything, low-profile, discreet. I want to show that I don't want to cause a huge uproar - I only want to tell the truth. A wrong move, and it'll be assumed that I was sent specifically by my aunt to, well, bring down the house.

And starting a whirlwind romance with Luke might slightly portray something on that order. I mean, what will Jocelyn, who's onto me, think when she sees me stealing her almost-step-granddaughter's love object.

So, there you have it. I'm afraid to advance on my pending affection (yes, I admit it, I have a pending affection) for Luke because of what everyone else will think.

Is it just me, or does that sound kinda familiar?

**Well, there you are. I hope that was pleasing. The story's about to really start getting juicy...**

**Anywayz, let me know what you think! Next ones will be posted very soon!**

**-rf-**


	28. The Real London

**I think you'll really like these next two chaps - they'll definitely go down as two of my favs! I certainly loved writing them!**

**Mrs. Scott323: Glad you liked that! And let me tell you right now - you are so dead-on about the whole "new generation" thingy. It'll really be conveyed in 29...**

**Call Me Mimsy: oooooh thank you! Hope you enjoy the movie:)**

It was Saturday morning in London. The house was relatively mellow, with Emma feeding Jacob custard, Anthony snoring, and Uncle Wallace watching yet another rousing cricket match. Faye and Meghan were downstairs, just finishing breakfast.

Laurence, too, had just finished eating, and was now about to head off to work.

"Lovely breakfast, Emma, thank you." he said.

Emma looked up and smiled.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you all - a health inspector is expected to drop in sometime this week. I'm quite confident that all will go well - we've always gotten good reports."

Everyone listened.

"Still, I can't help but feel a bit nervous. Those inspectors are very exacting, quite stern. They always find those little things."

"I'm sure you haven't any reason to worry." his wife assured him.

"You're probably right." Laurence agreed, smiling. "No use in worrying, anyhow. Well, I'm off to work."

Meghan watched him head out the door, trying to figure how in the world someone would find anything wrong with that amazing restaurant. She wished she could bring Daphne to eat there - she'd love the food and the atmosphere almost as much as the scrufty, rugged, surfer-guy busboys.

Setting her plate in the sink, Meghan went into the sitting room to study. She'd been doing a lot of that lately, after a not-so-nice grade on a math test and an even more not-so-nice chewing-out from Mr. Harlison.

Faye went up the stairs to rearrange her closet, categorizing her clothes by color, which Meghan didn't see the need for considering most of Faye's clothes, that weren't uniforms, were pink. Emma left shortly after, taking Jacob to the park behind their house.

So Meghan was left alone downstairs. Except for Uncle Wallace in the den. And he didn't count.

She was studying exponents when she heard a knock on the door.

Putting down her math book, Meghan was glad to have a distraction as she went to the door. The person behind it, however, made Meghan feel a bit like turning back to the numbers.

"Why, hello there." Lucas Brenshire said cheerily.

Meghan was speechless for a second, her hand flying to the back of her neck to rub it.

"Um..." she stammered. "I...how...how'd you get here?"

"Rode that." Luke answered, casually pointing to the sleek-looking motorbike that was parked just outside the short iron fence.

"No...no, I mean, how'd you know I lived here?"

He smiled at that.

"It's quite a funny story, actually - I have a friend, whose parents are friends with someone who has the home address of Mrs. Winthrop, who planned their wedding. And since you've been riding home with her, I assumed her house was where you were staying." Luke stopped, realizing he was rambling again. As he did this, Meghan vaguely heard Faye come down the stairs and stop a few feet behind her.

"Okay." Meghan told him. "So why'd you come?"

"I decided it might be a good idea to pay you a visit."

Meghan smiled a little.

"Well, you're here. So what happens now?"

Now it was Luke who rubbed the back of his head.

"Well, actually, I kind of had an idea."

Meghan cocked her head.

"And that is?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to go for a drive with me. On my motorbike."

She examined him, trying to compute this.

"You want me to go with you."

"Yes."

"On that?" she asked him, pointing to the bike.

"Exactly."

Meghan looked down, trying to think of what to say next.

"Are you nervous about the bike?" he asked. "Because it's quite safe, actually. I have an extra helmet."

"No...that's not it." Meghan found herself saying.

Luke eyed her gently.

"What's troubling you, then?"

"It's just that...I'm not really the guy-stealing type." she said, moving to the railing for the steps outside the door and leaning against it.

There was a pause.

"Alright...I'm glad to hear that, but what do you mean?"

Meghan looked at him.

"Well, you're kinda already claimed by somebody else."

"Since when was I _claimed_ by anyone?" he said, his voice a bit heated.

Meghan looked a bit taken aback. Seeing this, Luke immediately relented.

"Look, I know you're afraid." he said gently, coming closer to her. "But all I'm asking for is a chance. Just one chance to prove this is real, because I can't help what I feel about you, and I know you feel something in return. I can see it."

Meghan just stared at him, feeling a bit exposed. But she'd never been cared for in this way, never felt this kind of attention. And she wanted to keep feeling it, more and more, and give the same right back. She couldn't help but feel that turning her back on this would be a mistake. A mistake she should know not to make.

"Take me." she suddenly said to him. "Don't let me think about it anymore."

And so, with a smile, Luke suddenly grabbed her arm, pulling her down the steps and out of the yard. He handed her that extra helmet, and she sat down behind him on the motorbike. She held on as they sped away, Faye watching from the doorway.

In a split second, she was in a different world. She, Meghan, in her Bratty Brunette t-shirt and white tiered skirt and flip-flops, was in some kind of wonderland, speeding through London on the back of a gentleman's scooter. There were other motorbikes, even some that carried other girls in skirts. But this one was different. Because it was this speeding vehicle that Luke was using to welcome her, and only her, to a secret, splendid land she'd never seen.

Stores were lovely, especially the stores here. So were the cafés. And she'd seen plenty of stores and cafés on her trip with Faye and Emma.

But she hadn't seen the _real_ London. The one you could never experience by watching television, or looking at magazine pictures. You couldn't see it by just shopping, or visiting a bunch of museums and gardens and nothing more. What you had to do was just go out there, speed through, fly by, see what you could see, and just be mesmerized. Not think, not plan, just _go. _And see.

They did just that, Meghan holding on tight to Luke's back, becoming increasingly comfortable doing so by the second. Her hair whipped against her neck, the wind rushing through her. And she saw everything she'd seen before and more - all the palaces, all the huge old buildings, all the double-decker buses, and every angle of the giant clock.

She then became suddenly aware of them passing the street on which the academy was located. But the view was different. Luke didn't turn onto this street - instead, he drove right past it. They were on the other side. A new area, that Meghan was unfamiliar with. Instead of seeing modest houses like that of the Winthrops', she saw mansions, with big, symmetrical front yards and stone walls with gold plates bolted to them. And suddenly, a pang of familiarity hit as she caught sight of one in particular. She could just barely glimpse one word of print on its gold plate - Dashwood.

Luke didn't notice this, however, and sped right on by, apparently heading to another destination. But he didn't go much farther, however, before slowing down in front of what looked to be another mansion like those she'd just seen. She read 'Brenshire' on this gold plate, and was instantly astonished. In some way, it seemed she apparently hadn't fully comprehended, until now, what Faye had told her before, because this was just too surreal. That Luke _wanted_ her here. That he wanted to show her the life that he knew.

The boy had known she'd be surprised, as he turned to Meghan and grinned.

"Welcome to Brenshireland." he said, modestly. "Or, well, my house."

Meghan just stared as the huge iron gates opened for the two teenagers on their diminutive motorized two-wheeler.

"Whoa."

Luke chuckled and drove in, past the gate guard who nodded at them. Meghan noticed a look of wonder on the man's face, but it didn't look malicious, so she didn't mind. She felt kind of special.

They drove around to the side of the big building, where Luke killed the motor and took off his helmet, which told Meghan to do the same. He hung both of these on the handlebars, before starting to walk back around to the front. Meghan, however, just stood, still in shock.

He promptly stopped and looked back.

"Well, come on then!" he said, smiling again.

She came, and he took her hand.

Meghan was lead back around, up round white steps, and through big, white doors. What lay inside was most fanciful and elaborate. The ceilings were sky high. The floors were gleaming marble. The furniture had claws. And everything was as symmetrical as the courtyard. Meghan was in awe.

"This is where you _live?_"

"Yes, this is it."

Luke immediately started walking again, a bit faster, leading Meghan further into the house. He kept walking until they reached a door in the back, which he quickly pushed open. He dragged Meghan through and into the lovely but huge backyard.

Before she had time to gawk at this, however, he broke into a bit of a run, excited, pulling her further to the back and through yet another door. Finally, he stopped, and let go of Meghan's hand, now only lightly touching it as her mouth dropped open.

Before her lay what seemed like miles of sprawling countryside. Gorgeous, rolling grasses with dirt pathways, sunshine everywhere. She looked at Luke incredulously, her face in pure astonishment. He merely kept smiling, and asked her what she thought.

"Beautiful." was all she could say.

He took her hand again, pulling her in yet another direction.

"Wait." she told him. "Where are we going?"

Without stopping, he told her.

"The stables."


	29. The Chestnut Horse

**Meghan was now being lead** into a long, wooden building. In a dazed euphoria, she followed Luke as he stepped in, onto thousands of little woodchips. Into a building that smelled like horses, but not at all in a bad way.

He let go of her hand and stepped a few feet ahead of her, and Meghan stopped in the doorway. She couldn't seem to get over her amazement.

Luke walked over to one horse in particular, a black one, and stroked the top of his head. With his free hand, he motioned for Meghan to come inside. She walked to where he was standing.

"This one's name is Jim." he said. "You can touch him, if you want. He's very gentle."

Meghan hesitated, then carefully did so.

"He feels so soft." was all she could say, as she looked at the horse's calm face. She noticed that Luke, however, was looking at her. Meghan turned her head, and he smiled. She found herself doing the same, before another creature caught her eye - a chestnut brown horse in the corner. Meghan found herself walking over to it.

She could already tell that this horse was just as mellow as Jim, if not more, and without thinking reached out to stroke its brown fur. Luke stayed over by Jim, leaning back as he watched Meghan.

"Her name's Penny Lane." Meghan heard him say.

Meghan turned her head, and her eyes met with Luke's. She felt herself starting to melt a little, supported only by his gaze. She kept stroking the horse, but couldn't tear her eyes away...

_"Penny Lane?" a blonde woman asked as she felt the softness of the chestnut horse's neck. "Like the Beatles song?"_

_The man standing a few feet away chuckled, looking down._

_"It was Mother's idea." he told her. "She's always had a strange fancy for their music."_

Luke stepped over to pet the brown horse with Meghan. They both smiled as he scratched the creature's ear.

"I guess the name kinda fits." Meghan found herself saying. "I mean, she is a little penny-colored."

"She's been here longer then almost all the others." Luke said. "I have to say, she's one of my favorites."

_"Has she been here long?" Libby asked._

_"Not long." Henry answered. "Just a couple of years, maybe. Long enough for me to know how much she likes to have her ears scratched."_

_The woman smiled._

_"I can tell."_

Meghan watched Luke as he worked his fingers, giving Penny Lane much pleasure.

"She really likes that."

Luke nodded.

"She likes most anything, as long as you're touching her." he said. "Just be careful not to hold your finger in front of her mouth - she might think it's a carrot."

Meghan laughed.

_"I know, I know, just warning you, is all. Because I will NOT have your finger getting bitten off."_

_"Glad to hear that." Libby told him. "But don't worry, no one's getting bitten. I'm not horsy food."_

Luke took Meghan's hand, to "guard it, just in case". She smiled, bashful, looking down. Luke grinned right back.

"What say we take her for a ride?"

Meghan looked back up, and cocked her head.

"I thought you said she was old."

A chuckle.

"She may be up in age, but she can run with the best of them." he told her.

He let go of Meghan's hand to open the gate, leading the horse out, through the stable, and outside. She followed him, and soon Penny Lane had a saddle on her back.

Luke crouched down, now on one knee, and he clasped his hands together, holding them out for Meghan.

_"Step on up, m'lady." _

_Libby set her foot into Henry's strong hands, grabbing onto the horse and quickly swinging her other leg over, almost falling in the process. They both laughed as Henry climbed up to sit in front of her. _

_"Hold on." he said, before feeling two arms loop tightly around his waist._

"Are you ready?" Luke asked Meghan.

"Yes."

Immediately, Luke moved his legs, and the horse started its motion. Within seconds, Penny Lane had gathered speed, making Meghan nervous. She hugged Luke tighter, at first a bit afraid she'd tumble off. But as they eased into an even gallop, the wind kicking up her hair as it had on the motorbike (but better), she felt her anxiousness fall away, leaving an invigorating rush in its place...

_Libby was in elation, enraptured with joy. The world was spinning by, her heart thumping in time with Henry's, and with the horse's hooves as they pounded the earth. She was glowing, warmed by the magical sunshine that encircled her. Glowing, too, from the pleasure of the pure, immense, unfailing love she felt for this man. Such ecstasy, such bliss..._

Meghan was a princess, riding the rays of the sun. More and more, she began to fall into a kind of love she'd thought she might never experience. And yet, a bit of it was familiar, like something she'd somehow felt before, but in a different way...

_Speeding by on a Beatles song, the scenery changed every minute. Trees, flowers, acres of green grasses swaying. Everything was changing continuously, but for the one she held in her arms, his love a constant she could always hold on to..._

And happily, Meghan realized she was living her daydream, and Luke looked nothing like Fabio...

_This was the way it had always been. Ever since Morocco. They were where they belonged, together, free in the countryside. In nature, where an instinct took hold that wasn't animal, but elegant and lovely. What she'd always been looking for in her hippie philosophy, she was finding with a stuffy englishman..._

_"You're not stuffy at all, are you, Henry?"_

_Henry glanced back._

Luke glanced at Meghan.

"Stuffy? Me?"

**Faye was shocked out of her mind.** She'd just witnessed the live-in American exchange student speed off on the back of Lucas Brenshire's motor-scooter.

She'd never met anyone who confused her as much as Meghan Reynolds did. One minute, she'd be gung-ho bring-it-on nothing-stands-in-her-way patriotic. The next minute, she'd seem to want to run and hide in a hole.

Meghan had been the picture of etiquette, and the definition of an American teenager. She'd been reserved to the point of fading, and then an over-the top attention getter. Going on a shopping trip with overflowing enthusiasm, and flipping over to the side of sickness after three minutes of a speech from Lord Dashwood. Taking a stand against the populars in a hallway, only to henceforth adopt a philosophy of ignorance that frankly drew equally as much attention from everyone around her, due to the fact that such ignorance had never before been attempted.

It was like Clarissa could step all over Faye and her friends, and Meghan wouldn't ever even care. Granted, Meghan herself was being put through more than any of the rest of them. But why, all of a sudden, did it not affect her?

Faye sat on her pink, ruffly canopy bed as she thought this. She wasn't supposed to get this confused. She was a genius! She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.

All at once, the blonde girl noticed something. A strange noise, coming from the other side of the room. Seemingly, from behind Meghan's bed. Faye stood up and walked over, only to see Benny The Cat, clawing at Meghan's brown hobo bag.

"Benjamin Jefferson Winthrop! You stop that this instant!" Faye grabbed the bag, causing Benjamin to hiss, then bolt off out the door. She was dismayed to find that a large amount of the threads at the bottom of Meghan's bag had been completely torn out. The result was a hole, and even as Faye held the bag in her hands, things spilled out and onto the floor. Lip gloss, passport, money, that business card she'd seen once before. Faye quickly grabbed at the hole, holding it closed. This was unfortunate, but she was sure it could be easily fixed. Namely, by her mother.

Faye stooped to pick up what had fallen out, and noticed something she hadn't seen before, a plain, white envelope with no writing.

And it was then that Faye found her answers. And then some.

**Ooooh, juicy. Well, I hope. **

**Were these satisfactory? In any way poetic? Hope so!**

**-rf-**


	30. The Girl from New York

**Here are the next two chappies!!! A word for the reviewers:**

**Christine Writer: I honestly do not know. Faye is dabbling where she should not be dabbling. XD**

**scenester7002: Oh, I hope I haven't confused you! I left a bunch of stuff out?! Well, actually, that doesn't surprise me. Glad you liked it anyway though! Please keep reading:)**

**Mrs. Scott323: Sosososososo happy you loved it!! Worked super hard on 29! Tried to make it very romantic! So happy it worked!**

Jocelyn Dashwood had been in deep thought, for a long time. Not about the wedding, or the election, which are the things she probably should've been thinking about. But now, she found herself deliberately pushing these things to the back of her mind.

For something else was dominating her thoughts. That something, or rather, some_one,_ was who seemed like an ordinary schoolgirl. But Jocelyn suspected that she wasn't so ordinary.

She'd latched on that face from the first time she'd seen it, in the crowds that had come to watch her son speak. That face had been so _jarringly_ familiar. And the girl was American, second of all. That was another point.

And then, with her last name, it had been sealed.

Jocelyn had known at once, therefore, that she must find a way to speak with Henry on this matter.

Because deep inside, there was a thought that she was trying to avoid. A possibility that shook her, all the way through.

The girl had brown hair.

The girl was tolerant of Clarissa. Exceptionally tolerant.

And...she was the right age.

In truth, Jocelyn had always had her suspicions. The woman's erratic behavior shortly before her disappearance, her midnight trips to who knows where, her sudden liking of porridge, which had before brought her to the point of gagging.

And now, ever since she'd spoken to that brown-haired girl, she'd felt especially inclined to avoid being in the presence of a certain Mr. Alastair Payne - whom she'd always blamed for the whole mess, despite his attempts at portraying good character. Jocelyn, to put it quite frankly, was not an idiot.

The only reason she ever put up with him, really, was for Henry. Jocelyn hated to admit it, but as shrewd as Alastair was, he was excellent at his job. He took to political advising like ducks took to water. He was born for it, it seemed.

And he kept her son in line, which is something she had often failed at doing herself. The problem now was that Henry was _too_ in line, it seemed. It was all work for him now.

Sure, he had his morning talks with Jocelyn every day, when he read the paper and drank his coffee - Jocelyn would never let it be otherwise. And sure, he'd sneak his occasional late night bowl of sugary cereal.

And he thought she didn't know. Ha!

But because of Mr. Payne and his pushy ways, most of that poor man's time was spent buried in campaign matters, and public speaking matters, and any other matter that might arise. And Glynnis, herself buried in _wedding_ matters - well, swimming in them, really, with a lovely backstroke - fit perfectly into that equation.

And this was all Henry's choice - Jocelyn didn't really have much of a say. She had no choice but to go along with things.

But that didn't mean it was right not to bring this NEW matter to his attention. And now, sitting there sipping tea, she concluded that the importance of this situation could no longer be overlooked. The time had come. She would talk to Henry.

Jocelyn daintily set down her tea, and stood. She then gingerly commenced the short walk to the office. She pulled her chin up firmly, taking deliberate steps. Now, she decided, she could not turn around. Once this woman started something, she never stopped until an accomplishment had been made, however large or small. It was just the way she was.

This hard determination ran through her mind as she stepped into the hall. She had set her gaze in the right direction when she was suddenly thrown off by a rather large, moving shape that came out of nowhere.

It was Lucas Brenshire, son of their dear friend Matthew, who lived not far away. The boy passed her in his haste, almost in a run. Immediately after, however, he stopped, and turned to face Jocelyn for a minute.

"Excuse me, Miss Dashwood." said the boy, son of their friend Matthew, who lived not far away.

"That's quite alright, Lucas." Jocelyn chuckled. "Go on then."

And so, Lucas, son of Matthew, who lived not far away, went on. And Jocelyn followed.

From the woman's point of view, young Lucas looked to be positively ecstatic, to the point of having almost completely lost his wits. Or at least, that was the impression she'd gotten from his immediate _bursting_ into Henry's office.

"I've done it!" she heard him shout at the top of his lungs. Having approached the doorway, she stood by the wall just outside. Luke didn't seem to notice. "I took your advice and it worked! Lord Dashwood, I've finally done it!"

"Henry! Call me Henry, Lucas!" the man sputtered, instantly alarmed - and very startled. "What is it?"

"She believes me!" Luke cried, still in jubilation. "I took her riding, just like you said. And now, she wants to meet with me again! She's in LIKE with me!!!"

"What, you mean the girl? The one from New York you were talking about?"

"That very one." Luke stated proudly. "Sir, I just can't believe it! I...I'm at a loss for words, I -"

"Calm down, Lucas. I've never seen you this excited! What's gotten into you?"

"I'm in love!" he exclaimed, practically jumping up and down. "I'm insanely, madly, falling-down-laughing in love! That's what it is! Exactly what it is! And it's wonderful."

He spun around, and Henry watched, amused, his hands on his hips.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." he said. "You certainly seem different from yesterday."

"I felt it then, too." Luke told him. "But it's different now. Now, I have a chance. And I just wanted to thank you."

Henry smiled.

"Well then. You've just made my day. I'm glad I was able to help."

Luke grinned again, once more overflowing with excitement.

"Thank you, so much, again! Thanks to you, I've finally won the heart of Meghan Reynolds!" he shouted, before running out, whooping and waving his arms in the air.

Henry was left standing there, hands still on his hips, a blank look on his face. Slowly, he turned around, now facing away from the door, seeming to be in deep concentration as he thoughtfully examined the wall behind his desk.

Jocelyn saw this as she peeked in for a second, and heard him let out a long breath. She then moved backward, and turned back toward the room she's just left. Her work here was done.

**I was a very, **very happy girl as I reentered the Winthrop household that late Saturday afternoon. Emma, who was sitting at the table, glanced up at me.

"Oh, Meghan, you were outside?" she asked me. "Faye told me y'were studyin' in the bedroom."

I looked at her.

"I needed some fresh air." I said. And I think that was the truth.

Because I felt absolutely wonderful. Like I'd stopped denying myself something I needed. And sure, there was still a little voice inside that nagged me, about the image I was putting forth by what I was doing.

But Luke didn't seem to be nervous about it, so...maybe I shouldn't be nervous either.

I climbed the stairs and entered the room I shared with Faye. She looked up from a book she was reading on her bed.

"Hey, thanks for covering for me." I told her.

She looked at me for a second.

"Oh, it wasn't any trouble." she finally answered.

I spied my hobo bag on the ground, and stoop ed to pick it up.

"Oh my gosh!" I exclaimed. "There's a great big hole in the bottom!"

"Yes, I meant to tell you - Benny was clawing on it a while ago."

"Your mother can fix it, right?"

"I'm sure she can." Faye said, sounding a bit dazed. I don't blame her, seeing as she'd just watched me speed off with a guy I hardly knew. "Did you have a nice trip?"

I laughed.

"Sorry for leaving you like that. As a matter of fact, yes, I did have a good time. He wants to see me again - after school on Monday. I'll ask your mom about it, but I'm sure it'll be okay."

Faye went back to her book.

Confused as I was about Faye's lapse in her normal talkativeness, I knew that I had a math book waiting to be studied. Dumb Mr. Harlison.

I sat on my bed with said book, trying to turn my attention to the numbers, but to no avail. My mind kept drifting to the guy with the golden eyes and the brown curly hair. And that calm, wonderful smile. It was a smile that had feeling behind it. It wasn't shallow, and it meant more than just simple infatuation. It felt new, and comforting.

And with all of the junk I was going through, those eyes and that smile were a welcome sight to me, one that brought safety and relief. Despite the fact that I didn't know this person, and that a relationship would be unconventional, it felt alright. That look he had on his face when he'd asked for that chance - it made things seem alright.

I tried. I really tried to concentrate on my algebra. But only one equation stood out to me.

Luke + Meghan


	31. The Revenge! Ha!

**It was that time again. **Time for Meghan to call home - and this time, dang it, she would talk to Daphne. She was _dying_ to talk to Daphne.

Operator. One moment please. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hello?"

"Mom!"

"Meghan, sweetheart! How are you?"

"Very good, thank you for asking. You?"

"We're doing well. Chinese food tonight."

Meghan groaned.

"Please, mother, can you tell me _why_ you would put me through such torture as to disclose that the three of _you _will be enjoying the great and wondrous delight of this world that is Chinese food, while I am forced to sit in the misery of knowing that I'll be missing my precious sweet-and-sour chicken, instead having to dine on despicable _corned beef and CABBAGE?!!_"

Catherine laughed.

"Hey, be glad she's not Scottish, or else you'd probably have to eat haggis."

"You're not helping."

"Honestly, Meghan, I cannot for the life of me understand why you so dislike corned beef and cabbage. You know your Grandpa Shore makes the best in the world."

"Yeah, well, good for him."

"Whatever. Aside from that, how are things at school?"

"Er, well, I now have a private locker, a new set of P.E. clothes, and a knowledge of how to get any possible stain out of any possible piece of fabric."

"Sounds wonderful, honey. Wanna talk to you aunt?"

"Okay, if she's not busy shoving rice in her mouth."

"We'll send you a fortune cookie, okay?! Now here she is."

And so, Meghan talked to Libby, disclosing nothing more than she'd disclosed to her mother, and feeling overwhelmed with all the things she was holding back. But to Daphne, she would be more honest. If she could ever get her on the phone.

"That's good." she told her aunt, who had just informed Meghan of a recent hit performance at a wedding. Apparently, everyone had had a little bit more champagne than normal that night, but Libby had benefited greatly from it. "Can I talk to Daphs?"

"Oh, Meghan, I am SO sorry, but she's staying at Jewel's tonight. I'm afraid you'll have to wait another week."

Meghan was silent for a moment.

"Okay, lemme get this straight, Aunt Libby. You're telling me that there is yet another sleepover being held, conveniently on the night designated for me to call, and so therefore, I still can't talk to my ditsy cousin?"

"Mmm-hmm. Pretty much."

"Oh, well okay. Oh! You know what? I have to do something really quick. Can I call you back?"

"Sure, Meghan."

Five minutes later...

"Hey, Jewel."

"Meghan?! Waz up, girl! I haven't seen you in forever! Are you having fun in France?"

"England, Jewel. Can I talk to Daphne?"

"Daphne?"

"Yes, Daphne. She's sleeping over with you."

"Daphne's not sleeping over with me."

"Oh, she isn't?"

"No. What've you been smokin', Meghan?"

"Nothing, Jewel, just my aunt."

"You've been smokin' your aunt?!"

"No! I'll e-mail you later. Gotta go."

Another five minutes later...

"Hello?"

"Aunt Libby, hey! Listen, I just talked to Jewel."

"You did?"

"I did. And funny enough, as it turns out, there is no sleepover, and Daphne's not there! What do you make of that?"

"Um..."

"I'll tell you what _I _make of it. I think it tells me that you're a DIRTY LIAR!!!"

"Er..."

"My aunt is a big, fat, dirty liar. Liar."

"I -"

"Liar."

"Just - "

"Liar."

"Meghan, please - "

"Liiiiiiiiaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrr."

"Alright! Alright! I get it. And I'm sorry. But Daphne made me do it."

"Don't even TRY to pin it on her -"

"I'm not. But she..." Libby lowered her voice. "Meghan, Daphne's afraid to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Here, Meghan paused.

"Well, okay. Where is she though? _Really?_"

"Up in the bedroom. And by the way, Meghan, the first time you called - when I said she was in the shower - that was the truth. But apparently, an online chat took place since then."

Meghan felt slightly guilty.

"Please, Aunt Libby." she pleaded. "I'm _begging_ you. Get her on the phone. Let me talk to her."

"But...I..."

"Please."

Silence.

"Alright."

Meghan then heard footsteps on hard wooden stairs, a door creaking open, and voices in the background, before finally, after two weeks, she heard her cousin's voice once again.

"Hi, Meghan."

"Hey. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Tell me the truth, Daphne."

A long, long pause commenced.

"You really want the truth, Meghan?"

"Yes."

Daphne hesitated.

"The truth is, I'm really scared."

Daphne's staticky voice wavered.

"Well, do _you_ want to know the truth?"

"What do you mean?" Daphne asked.

"I mean, everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes, everything. That your grandmother went to the same school I'm going to. That her son is about to be married. That his fiancée's daughter is one of my classmates. That this classmate has been incessantly ridiculing me. That she's in love with a guy who just took me horseback riding. That this guy is actually in love with me. That I think I actually might be starting to like him back."

Daphne was speechless.

"Are you still scared?" Meghan asked her.

"Yes."

"Yeah, well, so am I."

And so, they talked. For a really, really, really long time.

**Early Monday morning,** Meghan and Faye marched into school as usual. Also as usual, Meghan attracted stares from pretty much everyone in the immediate area. Paying them no mind, Meghan kept walking with her companion, only to meet up with four girls standing outside of a classroom.

While Faye simply stood there, confused and still oddly silent, Meghan decided to question the method to the four girls' madness.

"Why are we standing right in front of this classroom?"

A sly, devilish grin spread across Emily's face.

"This classroom, Meghan, just happens to be the classroom that houses Clarissa The Terrible's first class of the day."

Meghan kept looking at her and the other girls who, with the exception of one, all had those strange, conniving expressions on their faces.

"And this concerns me because...?"

"Because today, my dear friend, it is someone else's turn to bathe in the Drink of the Day."

Meghan's eyes traveled upwards toward the top of the door, which was standing ajar. They rested on something gray and metallic perched at its summit.

Just as the truth registered, the bell rang. Meghan began to panic.

"What if someone else goes in there first? We'll be suspended!"

"Oh, don't worry about that. She's the teacher's pet. She's always the first one here. I know because I have this class, and I'm always the _second_ one here."

With this, Meghan's panic grew worse. Now that the signal had been sounded for class to begin, everyone was shuffling around as they always did, and Meghan could already see the blonde witch as she rounded the corner.

Her mind reeled, unsure of what to do. She looked at mischievous Emily, Samantha, and Bridget, then at oblivious Ayaka, and then at Faye, who had a strange, stony look on her face. Then, Meghan acted.

She karate-kicked the door open. However, the mischief makers had apparently made an error in physics, due to the fact that the metal bucket they'd set on top of the door did _not_ spill punch, but instead swung down, still full of the liquid, bashing Meghan straight in the face.

Of course, this cause the world to stop, and to turn all their attention toward her. Meghan, shocked and disoriented, held her hand to her nose, which was now bleeding.

Faye stood silent as her three friends' mouths hung open.

"Well, what have we here."

It was the teacher, who'd arrived near his classroom shortly before Meghan kicked the door open.

"Apparently, you five decided to play a cruel prank on an innocent exchange student."

The events that followed were that of Meghan's being taken to the nurse, of Faye, Emily, Samantha, Bridget, and Ayaka's being taken to the headmaster in the opposite direction, and of Clarissa's watching it all in sheer amusement.

**To Christine Writer - thanks for the idea which I have now used. :)**

**Meghan: rhapsodyflower, why do you keep bashing me?! I'm going to end up dead!!!**

**rhapsodyflower: Don't worry. You won't die. I hate to kill people off, and besides, I would never let you down. Plus (cough) you're crucial to the plot (cough).**

**Meghan: Oh, okay. Hey, wait a minute...?!**

**rf: He he just kidding lol. The Meghan-bashing will end soon. In fact, the next chapter is called "The Patriot".**

**Meghan: ooooohhhh I like**

**rf: Thought you would. Now go back to sitting silent in the nurse's office. Here's a cookie.**

**Meghan: Yum.**

**-rf-**


	32. The Patriot

**Hey! Tonight will be the second time that I will only be posting one chapter, because it's super long - and ends with a juicy cliffhanger. **

**scenester7002: Hope your problem clears up! Still very glad you're reading, and I hope you get all the good parts at least, if nothing else.**

**Mrs.Scott323: Ya gotta love Jocelyn, so classy and yet so fun. And about the letter - have you noticed any _changes_ in Faye's personality? ;)**

Fortunately, Meghan's nose wasn't broken. But something else was fractured, and that thing was the faith of Faye's friends in Meghan.

Because while Meghan had been allowed to return to class after her nose stopped bleeding with nothing but a small bump on her head (amazing for the bashing it took), Faye and the others were all sent home with suspensions. Meghan hadn't been sure what to do.

The prank hadn't been meant for her, but it had been meant for someone, and what difference did it make _who_ it was meant for? And though she knew that Ayaka, as innocent and oblivious as she was, had no part of it - there was no way Meghan could've proven that. The only one Meghan was able to testify for was Faye, who'd been with Meghan the whole time.

But the strangest thing had happened, when Meghan went to the headmaster's to put in her two cents.

"Faye came to school with me. I know that she had no part in it."

"Is this true, Miss Winthrop?"

Faye had looked down, silent for a minute.

"It is true that I went to school with Meghan. But I am just as much, if not more, at fault as they are." she'd said, motioning toward the four other girls. "In fact, it was my idea."

The headmaster had just looked at her, stunned, along with everyone else.

"Your idea to have the exchange student, who's staying with you, be hit with a bucket?"

Faye had stared to the side for a moment.

"No. The prank wasn't aimed for her."

"Who, then?"

"Clarissa. Meghan was trying to stop us."

This shocked Meghan. By admitting to organizing a prank against Clarissa, Faye had just done the equivelent of admitting to trying to prank the headmaster himself. Clarissa was linked to Jocelyn Dashwood. And Jocelyn Dashwood had funded the new computer lab they'd just had built - and probably a considerable bonus in Mr. Raspron's pay every once in a while.

Needless to say, this caused to headmaster to absolutely boil. The punishments of all five girls were extended from one day to three. And Faye, the alleged "ringleader", recieved FIVE days.

Meghan couldn't believe what Faye was doing. Her education was _so_ important to her. But what would a five-day suspension look like on her permanent record? What would the big wigs at Oxford think when they read her transcript? This was CRAZY.

"Faye, don't do this. You know what you said isn't true. You're innocent. You wouldn't do something like that..."

But Faye had just bowed her head as she was led out the door, the other four behind them. Emily, Bridgett, and Samantha had scowled at Meghan until they reached the end of the hall.

Meghan had watched them the whole way. Faye had only turned once, looking at Meghan, forlorn, before bowing her head once again as she turned the corner and went out of sight.

"Jocelyn will hear of this, you can be sure." Mr. Raspron fumed to Meghan. "But I'll make sure to tell her of the brave girl who put a stop to the incident."

Meghan looked at him.

"Don't bother." she said, before walking off toward Ms. Blithe's class, rubbing her head.

**Well, as you can tell,** I was already having a pretty crummy day. So by the time I got to English class, I was too scatterbrained to think anything about the man who was sitting near Ms. Blithe's desk.

You may remember that day in town, when I'd seen those five people up at the podium. Two of them were related to my cousin, on was a blood-sucking leech, and one was a wannabe Business Barbie doll - though, if you ask me, she would've been better suited as Lumberjack Barbie. He he.

The remaining person was someone I'd branded as being "creepy", with the name "Shakespeare's evil twin". Despite this, however,

I still had given this guy the benefit of the doubt, you know? I mean, as much as Faye had said against the woman "Glynnis" and her daughter Clarissa (whose dispicableness I've seen firsthand), she'd said nothing about that guy. Actually, I didn't even know his name.

Until today.

Anyway, there I was, all drowsy and out of it as usual, and the bell had just rung, and Ms. Blarf was getting up to speak.

"Class." she said, in a slightly less droning voice than usual,"I am very pleased and honored to present to you this day a very special guest speaker, Mr. Alaistar Payne, who as you all must know is Clarissa's grandfather, and advisor to Lord Dashwood. I would like you all to give him your full and undivided attention as he speaks to you this afternoon."

This, of course, is a bit of news to me, but as you always must do at this school, I do as I am told. So, exhausted, I clamped my hands together on my desk in the front row, rather like I used to do in first grade. I drowsily tilted my head up. There might be something interesting here, I thought.

"So at this time, sir, " she says, turning to him, "I'll go ahead and turn them over to you."

She motions for him to get up, and he complies. Then, she plops down in her seat as the man takes the stage.

"Well." he says, with a bit of an undisposed air in his voice, "Thank you for that, er, lovely introduction, Ms..."

"Blithe." she finished for him, with a little more drone.

"Blithe." he repeated. "Yes, thank you. Well then. Hello to all of you, especially you, my dear Clarissa..."

He eyes her with a funky grin, she throws a ditsy wave, blah blah blah.

"And I must say, I really can hardly contain my (cough) enthusiasm, to be talking to a portion of this year's exiting class."

That was clear sarcasm, which told me he'd probably rather be somewhere else. Join the club, buddy.

"But here there is something I must say. There are many things I loathe, ladies, many, many things I loathe. But perhaps one thing that I loathe the most is the lack of knowledge of classic English literature in today's generation."

Oh, boy. This was gonna be fun.

"Now as you know, I have a very prominant, high-profile position in British society. But let me tell you, I did not get to that point overnight. I worked for it."

He said this with a little more vigor.

"I studied. I solved. I took risks. But most of all, I read."

He pauses for a moment and puffs up his chest.

"I will elaborate. Who here is familiar with the poet and playright, Shakespeare?"

_Ha! So he IS the evil twin! Worry not, Shakespeare, for I will defend your honor..._ I'm thinking.

But for the moment I just raise my hand, along with the rest of the class.

"Yes." he says through his teeth in a low voice, throwing us a peircing stare. "I figured as much. But how many of you have the _entire_ works of Shakespeare committed to memory?"

_All_ of us, including Clarissa, put down our hands.

"Ah." he says with a conceited grin. "That is something I have in my possession, along with a wealth of other knowledge."

For the record, I highly doubt that. I'm just saying.

"Now, of course, I'm not expecting _all_ of you to go that far. We must be realistic - you'd probably push yourselves too far. But how many of you have read at least three of Shakespeare's plays?"

My hand went up again, and so did all the others.

"Yes, yes, good, fair enough. But here in lies the problem. I am willing to bet that not one of you in this room could recite an actual portion of a Shakespearian play. And that disgusts me, because of the sheer ignorance that has developed of those and many other works of great literature."

We all just keep staring at him, like he's Winston Churchill or something. Ha, not even. Winston Churchill was probably rolling in his grave.

"Let me illustrate for you. You're all familiar with that famous soliloquy in _Romeo and Juliet_. The one recited by the friar."

I keep looking at him.

"I am willing to write a check of a hundred pounds of my own hard-earned money to any person in this room who can recite that speech in its entirety."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out.

"Here you see my checkbook, as proof that I am serious." He waves it up in the air. "I can do this because I am almost positive that not one of you can fulfill that request. Would anyone like to prove me wrong?"

Here, believe it or not, we reach a pivotal moment. For as I look around the room to see not a single hand raised, some heads bent, Clarissa shrinking down a little (ha ha), I find myself doing something utterly ridiculous. I look up to see my own hand raised, alone in the air.

The guy looks at me, confused for a moment, and then immedaitely gathers himself.

"My! I see we have a volunteer. I admire you, whoever you are - you're a very brave soul. For you see," he says, sauntering over to me and looking me in the face, "I am a very tough judge."

I lower my hand, wondering what took over my body that caused me to raise it.

"Well, go on then." he says, with a bit of annoyance. "Recite the speech."

So here I was. About to probably make a fool of myself, acting like a dancing puppet for someone who associated with my cousin's _father_. I take a deep breath.

"The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,  
and flecked darkness like a drunkard reels, from forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, the day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours  
with baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb;  
what is her burying grave that is her womb, and from her womb children of divers kind  
we sucking on her natural bosom find, many for many virtues excellent, none but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies in herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:  
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live, but to the earth some special good doth give,  
nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; and vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower  
poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;  
being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still in man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; and where the worser is predominant, full soon the canker death eats up that plant."

I know. Most likely, you did not expect that out of me - nobody else did. Ms. Blithe and everyone else looked like they'd just seen a three-headed monkey do a dance, which, I guess, is pretty much the equivelent of what I'd just done. Their mouths hung wide open. _I_ couldn't even believe it. I couldn't believe myself.

Clarissa's gramps was the most stunned of all. He just stood there, flabbergasted, staring at me with astonishment. He then stepped back a bit, and looked over the class for what seemed like forever. Finally, he bagen to speak.

"See this?" he said, pointing toward me with a mixture of surprise and frustration. "This, my friends, is the most perfect demonstration of what I was only just telling you. I offered a hundred pounds. A hundred pounds! To anyone in this classroom! And only one girl put up her hand. And as a result, you just heard that timeless speech from that great play, recited perfectly..."

He looked at me.

"In an American accent."

I shrunk down in my seat.

"You should all be very ashamed." he said to the class. "And as for _you_, " he said, looking at me again, "You should be very proud. You just made a huge profit, while at the same time illustrating my point in the best way possible."

Even at this point, with that man staring at me and talking in his low, aggravated voice, I felt good. Actually, I felt _really_ good. I'd just struck a passive-aggressive blow against Clarissa, and a valiant blow for the USA. _See? We really DO care about other countries._ I thought.

And as creepy as he was, I didn't think anything more against this "Alaistar Payne" than I did for "Prudence Blithe" or "Boeregard Harlison". After all, he was about to make a huge donation to the "Daphne's Airplane Ticket" fund. Just another grumpy guy - whatever. I can deal with that.

I sit up straight again with pride as he walks back over to me, opening up his checkbook.

"Now, who shall I write this out to?" he asked.

"Meghan, M-E-G-H-A-N."

He scribbled this down, and nodded.

"Beatrice, B-E-A-T-R-I-C-E." (I threw in my middle name to be fancy).

He nodded again.

"Reynolds. R-E-Y-N-O-L-D-S."

And all of a sudden, as I looked up at him, waiting for him to finish writing my name, his hand froze. He took his eyes off the checkbook and directed them straight at me. His face spelled utter and complete contempt. Something burned in his eyes.

And I just kept looking up at him, confused.

"Um, is something wrong?"

His gaze was still locked on me.

"Say that again?"

I said it again.

He slowly turned back to his checkbook, scribbled feverishly, and tore out the check, folding it in half an tossing it onto my desk. He then quickly stepped to the center of the room.

"And there you have it, class." he croaked, trying to contain what looked to be anger. "That could've been one of you, if not for your ignorance. I suggest you study, and acquire some actual knowledge."

He then grabbed his briefcase, and glared at me as he walked out the door. He had only spoken for ten minutes. The stunned teacher mulled over what to do for the rest of the hour.

Despite my strange way of ticking a person off without meaning to, I was feeling pretty good at that moment. Haza! Whatever! Clarissa hates me, let her grandfather hate me too! It wasn't Daphne's father, or her grandmother - so who cared?

But then I opened that check.

**Oooh, cliffie.**

**Hope that was a surprising twist! Expect the next two up this Saturday!**

**-rf-**


	33. The Rest of the Story

**Greetings!**

**scenester7002: YAY!!! Glad you got to read the whole thing! Awesome!**

**Mrs. Scott323: Loved your review! Yes, he did get pretty freaked out...oh, and the check? You'll find out in a few seconds...**

"Mom." Meghan said urgently into the phone. "I need to talk to Aunt Libby."

"But you just talked to her yesterday!" Catherine protested.

Meghan felt hot as she stood in the school hallway, clutching a black receiver attached to a pay phone in one sweaty hand, Mr. Payne's check shaking in the other. Her eyes were glued to the scribbly numbers written:

£0.00

"Please, Mom, I really need to talk to her."

"Honey, I don't know if - " her mother was cut off. Another voice immediately came on the phone.

"What do you need?" Libby said seriously.

"I need help."

"With what?"

"I think - I think I'm in trouble."

"Why? What happened?"

Meghan hesitated.

"Aunt Libby, I'm afraid to ask you this, but...are you familiar with a man named 'Alastair Payne'?"

Silence.

"Oh, Meghan..."

There was her answer. Meghan closed her eyes.

"So you do know him."

"Unfortunately, yes, I do. And I'm very, very afraid that you're about to tell me you've crossed paths with that despicable man..."

"Just...just tell me one thing - is there any reason this man would have anything against you?"

More silence.

"Meghan," her aunt finally breathed, "that man is my worst enemy."

_The black car sped down the wet London streets. Libby stared out the window, anxious and dizzy. It was past midnight, and the driver was speeding her toward what was to be the nearest drugstore. She held her head up, trying her best not to give in to the urge to curl up and start sobbing. She blinked._

_And they pulled up in front of a small, dimly lit building._

_"Here we are, Miss Reynolds." the driver said, robotically. "Take this - "_

_The man was going to hand her an umbrella, but Libby had already pushed out of the car and into the pouring rain. Getting wet was the least of her worries. She yanked the door open to the dimly lit pharmacy and ducked inside..._

_She was staring. Staring at linens. Libby was sitting on the counter in one of the many bathrooms in the Dashwood mansion. Her blue eyes were pained and blank. She thought of some words she'd read not long ago, a threatening note from a man who despised her. The one who wouldn't let her be with the man she loved. _

_It had been left for her on a bed in the maid's quarters, where she'd been moved while Henry's bedroom was supposedly being "remodeled". There were hundreds of rooms in that mansion - but she'd been moved THERE._

_But then, Henry had moved there with her._

_So next, she had been moved to the opposite end of the dining table every morning, while someone else took her place to discuss "business matters". _

_But then, Jocelyn had allowed her the seat on Henry's other side, where she herself usually sat. Libby had always liked Jocelyn._

_Then, every article of her clothing had mysteriously appeared out on the front lawn one rainy night. She'd brought them in, most of them ruined and sooty._

_But Henry bought her a whole new wardrobe._

_Finally, one night, when he'd wanted her to play her guitar for him, she'd found that its strings were knarled and cut, and that its handle was broken and splintering off. There were several dents in it as well, that looked to be made from a hammer._

_Libby had been playing that guitar since her father had bought it for her in the seventies. It was one of a kind. And now, it was destroyed._

_But Henry had held her close, reassuring her, promising a new one straight away. He knew that this one could never be replaced, but one day, my love, you'll have a thousand guitars, Libby had heard him say._

_Of course, Alastair denied having done anything wrong, instead pinning it on other disgruntled employees, who were discharged on the spot. Though Henry was suspicious, Alastair had a way of twisting things around in his favor that was unmatched._

_And Libby couldn't tell anyone about the note. That man had been working with Henry for years, and had worked for his father as well. That note might be perceived as a lie, an attempt to get rid of that trusted advisor. Libby couldn't take that risk._

_Henry Dashwood was the type of man she'd least expected to be in love with. A British collegiate, clean cut, with short hair. The son of an earl. Filthy, filthy rich. Workaholic. Libby's complete opposite. _

_She was not royalty._

_She was not a debutante._

_She was not even English._

_But that didn't matter, right? Right?_

_Reluctantly, she glanced at the clock. It was time._

_She took the plastic stick-shaped device out of the cup it'd been sitting in. She closed her eyes, took in every ounce of air that she could, then let herself breathe it all out as she looked at that tiny window._

_And then, Libby grabbed a folded-up Egyptian cotton towel, hugging it to herself as her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, drowning in raw emotion..._

"Aunt Libby." Meghan stopped her. "You don't have to tell me all of this. It's not my business to know. This hurts you...I'll...I'll just avoid him..."

"No." Libby said, determined. "It is your business. I should have told you before. Daphne is closer to you than anyone - even closer, I'll venture to say, than she is to me. And you can change her life."

A thought suddenly occurred to Meghan. She reached into her book bag, taking something out.

"That note you just told me about." she said to her aunt. "What did you do with it?"

"I put it right back where I knew it came from. In the desk of Mr. Payne himself."

Meghan now held a threatening note of her own in her hand - the one Clarissa had left in that disgusting locker. Her eyes were now focused on the initials at the bottom, which had looked to be written over some dried-up White-Out. Dried up, and _flaky_ White-Out. Meghan started working her fingernail to it.

"That note alone wasn't quite enough to turn me away. But it wasn't the last one I received...

_It was raining again. And Libby was in the black car again._

_But this time, she had suitcases with her._

_Elizabeth Anne Reynolds had never felt such sadness in her entire life. She loved Henry with all of her soul, more than anything on Earth. But...she just couldn't bear to bring him any more disgrace. _

_Disgrace. Disgrace. Disgrace. It was all she really amounted to._

_She was waiting for the driver, who would take her to the airport. Once she was out of those gates, there would be no turning back. _

_And she considered it. She considered going back. She longed so much to be in Henry's arms. He'd understand. He'd hold her, and make everything alright._

_But before Libby could reach for the door handle, a small, brown paper bag on the floor caught her eye. "Miss Reynolds" was scrawled on the front of it. She picked it up._

_What she pulled out horrified her. It was that pregnancy test, the once she was sure she had buried deep in the trash. The little window still showed its bluish color. _

_And with it was another deathly note._

_Elizabeth,_

_Be assured that you are making a wise choice. Much luck to you in the future. Your decency will not be forgotten, though your indecency will be much better remembered._

_-A.P._

_And with that, it was sealed. She could never, ever go back. _

_The driver came in._

_He started the car._

_The gates opened._

_And as the car slowly rolled out, Libby looked at that house, taking it in, one last time. The courtyard, the walls, and each window on the mansion, the curtains - though she couldn't bear to look at the room where she'd spent her time here, Henry lying beside her every night. She was sure, she was sure he was watching. Watching her leave him behind._

_And so she brought her damp eyes down, her head bent as they pulled out of the drive and into the traffic. In with all those oblivious people who were out driving that morning, going about their usual business, living lives that Libby envied. Lives that weren't shattered._

_But Libby did have something. She touched her stomach, relishing the small but significant comfort it gave her. _

_It was all she had left of him. And she would treasure it always._

"Oh...oh..." Meghan stammered, her voice trembling. "Daphne...he knows about Daphne..."

"All he knows is that there is a child." Libby said solemnly. "But it's enough."

"I - I can't believe it...I can't..." Meghan's eyes clamped shut, and all she could do was keep scratching on that note, not quite sure anymore why she was doing it. She tried very hard not to cry.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Meghan."

Meghan didn't answer.

"Meghan..."

There was nothing left on the note for he nails to scratch.

"Meghan, I..."

The phone swung on its cord, low to the ground, where a little piece of paper had drifted.

_Hope you like your new arrangements._

_This, my American friend, is only the start_

_Of your worst nightmare._

_My advice to you is to leave now,_

_And go back to the cesspit you came from_

_Before I, personally,_

_Put you in the gutter._

_You will learn your place._

_-A.P._

**Luke was confused.** Meghan was not in front of the academy, where they'd arranged to meet after school that day. He entered the school to look for her.

The halls were empty and quiet.

"Meghan?" he called, his voice echoing a bit. "Are you there?"

He turned the corner, and found no one. What he did find was a phone hanging to the ground, and a strange note lying beneath it. He picked it up.

"A.P.?" he said to himself. "Who the devil is that?"

Before he had time to fully read what was written, he heard a door down the hall swing open. He quickly stuffed the note into his pocket.

Luke saw a brown-haired girl emerge, red in the face.

"Meghan!"

The girl looked at him, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Luke!" she responded, flustered. She frantically gathered herself. "I'm sorry. I had to use the restroom."

"Restroom? You were taking a nap?" he said as he approached her.

"No. I mean, the loo." she responded flatly.

"Oh." he said, smiling. Meghan half-smiled a little as well. "You look like you've been crying. Are you alright?" He rested his hand on her shoulder.

Meghan looked down.

"I'm fine." she said slowly. "I just need some fresh air."

Luke tilted his head, in thought.

"Well, that can be arranged." he said cheerily. "Come on then."

He walked on ahead, looking back to make sure Meghan followed. Luke knew that something was wrong, and hoped she would eventually tell him what. But either way, he would not allow her to be unhappy.

Because that made him unhappy. Which felt quite unpleasant.

**There you go. That's how I imagined Alastair finding out about the pregnancy. Actually, it was about all I could think of. Kinda disgusting, but whatever. He's just THAT evil. It's where Clarissa gets it. Though her mother's no slouch either...**

**Also, to clarify, Clarissa apparently found that note in Alastair's desk - why did he keep it? I told you, he's EVIL. Anyway, she was too lazy to write her own threatening note, so she just used that one. Hope that made sense!**

**On to the next one...**


	34. The Soldier

**Meghan was hurting the rest of the day,** but Luke's warm prescence eased the pain a bit. He was probably the only one she knew in the country that could've been any help at all, and she was very grateful to have him.

In fact, she was feeling more grateful for him every second.

"I've got just the ticket to cure your sadness." he said.

And he took her to McDonald's. Which, even with Ronald's big, fat clown head staring at them from every corner, seemed like the most romantic gesture Meghan could imagine.

As she hungrily ate her cheeseburger, she watched him tactfully dip french fries in ketchup and eat them, one at a time.

"Oh, I'm such a pig!" she said, suddenly horrified.

"No." Luke responded casually. "I'm just a snobby peer of the realm."

"What's a peer of the realm?"

"Nothing worth going into." he laughed.

"Fine. I'll just look it up in my British slang dictionary."

"I wish you luck with that."

And she went back to eating and watching him eat as she did so. She found it interesting.

Then, they took off on his motorbike again. He took her to see the Peter Pan fountain.

Standing in front of it, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out two coins - one for Meghan, and one for himself.

"Toss it in and make a wish." he said. He then proceeded to flip his coin into the fountain.

"What did you wish for?" Meghan asked him.

"If I tell you, it won't come true." he said.

"Oh. Fine then." Meghan turned and tossed hers in.

"What did you wish for?" Luke asked her, slyly.

"Same thing you did."

They sat on the bench in front of the copper-colored water feature.

"What do want to do now?" he asked her.

"I dunno. What do you wanna do?"

He smirked.

"I think I know a place. Where we can go 'chill'." he said, trying his best (and failing) to sound American.

Meghan giggled.

"Right then. Brilliant. Lead the way." she said, sounding flawlessly British as she gestured ahead of her.

"Not bad." he had to admit as he stood up. Smiling, Meghan followed him.

Once again, she found herself being driven into that exclusive part of the city. She couldn't help but notice that a few people were staring at them. She'd seen people staring from the first time she and Luke had been out together. It was kind of unsettling.

They came through the big iron gates that led into Brenshire Manor. Meghan was led through the house and out into the back again, but this time, Luke turned in another direction - and they were in a small, charming little garden.

It was then that Meghan noticed the two people who were sitting at small outdoor cafe table in said garden. A man and a woman, both looking to be about Catherine and Libby's age.

The man was sort of dashing but looked a little like a scoundrel at the same time. He had short and very curly brown hair, and his face looked a teensy bit like a chipmunk's. He was wearing a suit.

The woman looked decent, though she seemed to look like she'd had a bit too much plastic surgery done on her cheeks. She had dishwater blonde hair, and was wearing a pink tweed outfit.

Luke noticed them as well.

"Oh! Mother! Father! I didn't see you there. Meghan, these are my parents, Matthew and Lillith Brenshire. Mum, Dad, this is Meghan Reynolds."

"Hello." Meghan told them, holding out her hand.

Matthew took it, staring at her in a sort of dazed fashion.

"Pleasure to meet you, lovely lady." he said. "Nice weather we're having, isn't it? Hasn't rained in weeks! Oh, how now..." He immediately got up and shuffled into the house, his mind distracted by a new thought.

Lady Brenshire, however, was not distracted in the least. She seemed to be studying Meghan thoroughly.

"It's nice to meet you too, ma'am." Meghan said, holding her hand out again.

"Oh, yes...my, you have rather strange hair, child...rather bent. Are you sure you know how to use an iron correctly?" the woman casually asked her.

"Mother!" Luke immediately swooped toward Meghan, gently pulling her away.

"Oh, what is it now, Lucas? I was simply telling the girl that her hair-styling techniques - "

"Enough, Mother." he said. He hastily pulled a very confused Meghan to another part of the garden, out of the woman's sight.

"I'm sorry." he immediately told her. "My mother can be a bit...frank, at times."

"Your dad seemed nice." she told him.

Luke looked away for a second.

"Yes, well, I suppose he is." he said as he faced Meghan again. He sat down on a small stone bench, putting his hands together.

"Is - is something wrong?" Meghan asked him.

He looked up.

"No, no, nothing to fuss about." he said. "It's...it's just..."

Meghan sat down next to him.

"The truth is, my father's a bit _too_ nice." he said.

"_Too_ nice?"

"Yes. Because -"

Meghan waited.

"Because...he's a bit fond of the bottle."

She looked down.

"But like I said. Nothing to fuss about. I'm sure your father's a right decent man."

She kept looking down.

"He was." she told him.

Luke was silent for awhile.

"...Was?" he asked, carefully.

Meghan hesitated.

"Yeah. My dad isn't around anymore."

Luke was quiet again, not sure he should tread any further.

"What...happened to him?"

Meghan turned to face her companion, gazing into his eyes once again. And she decided to open the door, and let him in.

_It was August 18th, 1998. Meghan and her mother had been washing dishes together when they heard the doorbell ring. Catherine turned the water off and picked up a dishtowel, drying her hands as she went to answer the door. Meghan wiped her hands on her jeans, and followed her._

_The door opened to a stern-looking man in uniform._

_"Hi, can I help you?" Catherine asked._

_"Good afternoon. Are you a Mrs. Catherine Reynolds?"_

_The woman looked at the man strangely. Meghan, confused, studied him from her position, a few feet away._

_"Yes..."_

_"Mrs. Reynolds, I regret to inform you that your husband, Luietenant Aaron Reynolds, who is currently serving in Kosovo, has been reported missing in action."_

_"...Oh." Catherine's hand flew to her mouth. Meghan's eyes widened as she tried to process what the man had just said._

_"Let me assure you that the military is making every effort to locate him and bring him to safety. However, I must inform you that his circumstances may be very grim."_

_That had been enough to send Meghan running to her room in tears. But later that night, after they'd both cried for awhile, Catherine and Meghan had sat on the couch eating butterscotch ice cream and watching The Tonight Show, and they'd hugged, and Catherine had assured Meghan that yes, he'd be okay. They'd find him._

_Then, months passed. Every week, there was a phone call that gave Catherine an update on the search's progress. Of which, unfortunately, there didn't seem to be too much._

_Soon, the phone calls started coming less and less often. Month after month, Catherine struggled to pay the rent, and the utilities. To buy food, clothes, and every other necessity. All on her small assistant's job._

_And then, they recieved one last call. The call that informed them that, due to the dangers and risks involved for the other young men and women who were serving, the search for Luietenant Reynolds and the others reported missing had been called off._

_That day, Meghan had seen her mother fall to the floor, sobbing, with the phone still in her hand. Clutching it, as if by squeezing it hard enough in her shaking fist, the person on the phone would tell her that it was all a joke, or a bad dream. _

_Meghan had just stood there, watching, unable to believe it. It was like something she'd seen in a tragic movie. She couldn't grasp it. All she could do was kneel down and put her hand on her mother, to comfort her in any way she could. At the moment, Meghan herself just couldn't cry - it was too surreal._

_It had hit her later, when she was taking off her silver locket to go to bed. Aaron had given her that locket - she'd had it since she was five years old. Now, now she finally realized that...that her father was probably never coming home._

_Her mother had heard her crying, and had rushed in to console her. Catherine made a decision that night - that it was time to get away._

_And so, by next week, Meghan and Catherine were loading their possessions into a U-Haul van, packing up everything that would go with them to their new home. They would be staying with Aaron's younger sister, Elizabeth, and her daughter, Daphne. _

_When they'd pulled up in front of the building that housed the artist's loft and stepped out of the car, Libby and Daphne, who'd been waiting for them outside, had pulled them both into a sweeping embrace. Meghan would always remember how her aunt had smiled at her that day - she had looked like an angel. It had given Meghan comfort. And Daphne had given her that goofy grin, which at the time, Meghan had only seen a few times before. It had seemed to say, "Welcome, Meghan. From now on, we're gonna be together, and that makes me very happy."_

_And for a long, long time, they'd hoped together. The four of them had talked about Aaron every day, convincing themselves that any day now, he'd turn up. They didn't want to accept that probable truth, that he'd remain missing forever, like so many soldiers before him._

_But one day, they'd just stopped talking. All at once, the four of them had seen that light start to fade as they started to believe that what they had was not hope, but denial. And ever since that day, it had been hard to talk about him at all - and mostly, they never did._

_And Meghan convinced herself to move on, because she knew it was what her father would want. She remembered him saying once, before he'd gone overseas:_

_"If anything ever happens to me, I want you and your mother to keep going, understand? I want you to be happy. So don't you ever, ever be sad for me. Because no matter what, I promise I'll always be there. And I'll make sure you don't cry."_

And now, Luke looked at Meghan, and Meghan looked back. Her shoulders had been cold that entire day, but now, Luke's arm was draped over them. And they were warm.

**Okay, two things.**

**One, I'm not quite sure if anyone throws coins in the Peter Pan fountain in London, but this is rhapsodyflowerland, and in rhapsodyflowerland, they do.**

**Two, about the Kosovo thing - I did some reasearch, and fortunately, in real life, there were no American casualties when they really did fight there, and I don't think there were any MIAs either. Sadly, there are MIAs in this story - but the bad things that take place will make the good things better. And trust me, VERY good things are going to happen. :)**

**Back soon!**

**-rf-**


	35. The Interesting Gesture

**Why, hello. I have for you on this silver platter next two chapters, and I have a feeling you'll _really_ like them. Lots of drama, ooh, lots of romance, yes...**

**scenester7002: Wow. That. Is. Awesome. I am so honored! Hey, why not? Be my guest:)**

**Call Me Mimzy: Can't say I blame you for hating him, I felt the same way, the screwball...**

**Mrs. Scott323: Thanks for the respect, it is treasured so. I mean, I try to be authentic, but I can only do so much lol. Don't worry, Alastair WILL be on the recieving end of some nasty violence, at the most fitting time possible, believe me. ;) Glad you liked the flashbacks, I put a lot of thought into them. Awww, so glad you think L&M are cute, that makes me very happy! **

**Ok, on with it...**

A certain host-sister by the name of Faye had adopted a new persona, one that completely contradicted her previous character.

Meghan saw this more and more with every encounter she had with the blonde. Faye, who was now on complete lockdown, not being able to even set foot outside of their small, brownstone flat until the day came when she'd be allowed back through the gates of the Jasperstone Academy for Girls, had now completely resigned to her bedroom, where she did nothing but study and sleep for hours on end.

"It's simply inconceivable." Laurence had commented. "She has never pulled a stint like this before."

"It's a wonder she wasn't expelled." Emma had observed.

That was a wonder, it was true. But Meghan was focused on a bigger wonder.

There were two possible things that could've happened:

1.) Faye really HAD organized the whole plot against Clarissa, or

2.) She'd had no idea the plot was being organized in the first place, and she was simply taking the blame for it.

Meghan was sure that the truth lay within number 2. But BOTH of those things seemed impossible. This was not like Faye, at all. As squeamish as she was, as insecure as she was...

It just didn't make sense.

And Faye, who had before been one to talk out the entire dictionary in a single sentence, was now someone from whom Meghan found it hard to extract a single word. All the girl ever did now was bury her nose in books and lay in bed, moping around like a sloth. She didn't even bother to braid her hair, and hardly even bothered to get dressed.

Meghan, however, was doing everything that Faye was not. For despite their complete disdain for their daughter's behavior, Laurence and Emma felt absolutely no hostility toward Meghan whatsoever. Which Meghan saw as being quite fortunate, due to the fact that the couple could have easily _blamed _her for Faye's sudden rebelliousness, deeming Meghan a bad influence. Although she _was_ quite sure that Mr. Ratfink's good word might've had something to do with it. Yes! Meghan was a hero! She'd saved the queen from the revolution! Cheers to that!

So since there was in fact no fault being found in the befuddled teenager, she was practically allowed to come and go whenever she pleased. And since her many attempts to get through to Faye were proving to be in vain, she did quite a lot of going - particularly with the dashing aristocratic rebel that was Lucas Brenshire.

They'd speed off on his motorbike like thieves with their plunder, tearing London to shreds. Blindingly fast, they would zoom along, only occasionally stopping to examine something interesting enough to be considered worthy of their curiosity. Once, they stopped at an outdoor market, and Luke said to Meghan:

"Pick something."

She had looked at him, half startled, half confused.

"Huh?"

"Pick something. Anything you want. Jewelry, clothes, eh, figurines of the Osbourne family..." he had paused, deep in thought as he turned a miniature replica of Ozzy over in his hands, "anything you see. It's yours."

"Oh no. Not even. You're not buying me anything."

"I insist."

"No."

"I insist."

"Well, I insist that you don't insist."

"I insist."

"Stop insisting!"

"I."

"Stop."

"In."

"Stop!"

"Sist."

"Dang it!"

"You know I'm going to keep saying it."

Meghan looked at him, observing the smirk on his face.

"Fine. I want that." she said, pointing in some odd direction. Luke followed the direction of her finger, his eyes all at once landing on some small, pink, marbleized objects that looked like bricks.

"You want...soap?"

"Er, yes. I want soap."

Luke looked at Meghan, then at the soap, then back again.

"Alright then, it's soap you want? Then it's soap you'll get."

The boy pointed the pink bricks out to the vendor, casually reaching into the pocket of his casual-dressy pants, pulling out a leather wallet, and extracting from this wallet a rather flashy gold credit card.

"I'm sorry, sir, we don't take credit." the burly man promptly told him in a cockney accent.

"Oh. Right then. No bother." He put the card and wallet back in their place, before reaching into the _other_ pocket and pulling out a healthy wad of hundred-pound notes. Meghan's eyes widened in astonishment.

Luke handed the man one of the notes.

"Sorry, all I have." he said.

The man took the money in disgust, muttering to himself in the frustration of having to break into such a large bill for such a small purchase.

"Hrumph. Snotty ruffian, acting like you were Lucas Brenshire or summat."

Meghan looked at Luke questioningly. He only winked, pressing his finger to his lips with a wry smile.

When the soaps were packaged, the two started to make their way back to the bike to speed off yet again.

"That guy didn't recognize you?" Meghan questioned the ruffian, whose arm was once again draped around her shoulder.

Luke smirked again.

"He recognizes me. Everyone does. But they don't think anything of it, because no one would ever believe that someone of my 'status' would be caught dead in any public place that wasn't fraught with posh extravagance and mingling dignitaries. Therefore, they assume that it can't be me after all. Impossible."

Meghan looked up at him, her eyes radiating wonder and admiration. He smiled down at her for a second, before his attention was immediately snatched away by something else.

"My, what lovely jewelry!" he exclaimed, possibly a little too enthusiastic, possibly on purpose - pulling Meghan over to a particular display. "Are you quite sure you only want the soap?"

Meghan was silent for a moment as she fingered one of the pieces - a necklace, consisting of a blue crystal butterfly dangling from a silver chain. The sunlight reflected off of the crystal, making it glow with rainbows of iridescence. The chain was a thick, woven spiral of metal, holding the pendent firmly in place. She let go of the necklace, still hanging on its post, as she looked at Luke to answer.

"I'm sure." she told him.

Luke smiled, gently pulling her away, making notes in his mind.

And so there were many more days like this, days of Meghan being whisked off from the place of norm to lands of bliss. They made frequent visits to the manor, which of course meant that Meghan had to throw many a glance at that other infamous residence as they passed it without fail on the way each time. And every time she did, she wondered when she was ever going to be able to work up the nerve to venture inside said residence, to take part in a conversation that she was supposedly not afraid of.

Little did she know, she was acquiring just as many glances as that house, if not more. And not just from the people on the streets who wanted to take a gander at the Lucas Brenshire look-alike as he sped by on his scooter. Not just from the people who had it in for her, of which there were many. And not just from the sweet woman in her middle-sixties whom Meghan had met in a public restroom, who of course was doing a fair amount of pondering on the brown-haired teenager.

No, there was, in fact, someone else. Someone who had inherited his share of pondering skills, and who never hesitated to utilize them to their fullest on his frequent outings and escapades to the latest debate or campaign speech.

_So that's the girl from New York._

**I must divulge to you **that at this point my feelings and overall sense of being are both getting to be very hard to decipher. I feel such a mixture of good and bad, right and wrong, entrapment and liberation that it almost seems somehow abnormal, as if I am some kind of mutant who can bear a plethora of different emotions all at the same time.

Yeah, enough of that. No need for poetics here. The point is, I just feel confused, and don't exactly hate it.

Basically, with the exception of Faye and her digruntled friends, no one really even knows about this growing relationship between myself and this character named Luke (at least not to my knowledge), including his very aloof and oblivious family: his father seems to like to drink away all of his discretions, while his mother just doesn't even consider the possibility of any sort of bond between her son and I, due of course to the fact that I am too socially low.

Man! How many haters must I be association with, and how am expected to deal with them all?!

Also, I've recently met another member of the Brenshire family: his apparent sister, Marianne, who is three years older and in college. I haven't seen much of her, but our brief encounters on my visits to the residence have in truth been far from horrible - she seems to have no malice toward me. However, due to her constant comings and goings and flustered state all through them, she too has failed to recognize any feelings in bloom between her brother and his "new exchange student friend".

I do have to suddenly backtrack at this point, and say that there is _one_ person who knows of the relationship - that person, of course, being my cousin, Daphne. This is because I told her, in a long-awaited hour-long banter (would've been longer, if it weren't so expensive). I had been so itching to talk to her that I had divulged everything - perhaps, maybe, more than I should've. She now knows about Glynnis and Clarissa, which probably just magnified her already simmering nervousness.

Anyway, putting aside my problem of abusing the act of honesty for the time being, I'll go on. I'm scared, if you haven't noticed already. Scared that when the world _does_ find out about Luke and I, the fortress of safety I've built is going to crash into stony rubble. Clarissa threw a fit just at that sight of Luke approaching me - but imagine how she'll scream in fury when she finds out that I've apparently stolen the affection that should've been aimed at _her._

But I don't want this to stop. This sounds cliché, I know, but I can't get enough of the joyful emotional chaos that this guy is causing to broil within me. It's been about a week and a half, and now all who were banished are back in school, and now I find myself doing more and more with this person - Faye's parents don't even know that. They just know I'm going out...somewhere, and apparently, they're fine with it.

Luke recently made that chaos broil all the more by exposing the fact that he, unbeknownst to the general population, is musically gifted.

I mean, maybe I don't own a _guitar pick collection, _but having shared housing arrangements with Libby Reynolds for about five years, I do know a little something about the instrument of which those picks were meant for.

So it impressed me when Luke thrummed the strings of a mahogany object he'd just pulled from its true-to-shape case.

"Like it?" he asked.

"It's beautiful." I'd immediately replied.

"Figured you'd think so. You know, this is actually a real passion of mine. I mean, not a lot of people know this, but - I don't dream of inheriting my father's estate and his seat in parliament nearly as much as I dream of just sitting and playing on this contraption for a living."

"Really."

"Yes. You know, my friend Ian is a musician."

"Ian? The busboy?"

"That very one. He has a band, actually. Believe it or not, they sometimes land playing spots at some very high-profile social gatherings - including debutante balls."

"Wow."

"I met him through school, though. His grandparents are in the nobility, and they force him to go there. Only the best for their grandson. He doesn't care for it, though."

I smiled at the thought. Poor surfer guy.

"If I could, I would join his band as well - he's heard me play, and says he has a spot open for me any time I want it."

"So take it."

He kind of turned away when I said that.

"Er...I would, but it's not really that easy."

Maybe I should have asked why, or pressed him more, but I didn't. Because I knew what he was talking about.

"I understand." I said simply.

He had a strange reaction to this, looking at me incredulously.

"My." he said, sounding astonished. "You are just incredible. Something else entirely. I thought that you thought everything was easy for me."

This made me think. Nobody spoke for a second.

"No, I don't think that. I don't think anyone really has it 'easy'. Everyone has special, different circumstances that present certain problems for them."

He kept staring at me.

"Honestly, you will never cease to amaze me, Meghan Reynolds."

I wish I could. I wish I could stop amazing people. It seems like it's all I do, and I don't think it's necessarily a good thing.

Nobody talked for a couple of minutes, as he just kept thrumming random notes, seemingly reluctant to play me an actual song just yet. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, so I just listened to those notes and looked out the window. I watching the fountain dribbling outside down below as different musical bits wafted through my mind.

"What about Paris Hilton?" he suddenly asked, bringing his fingers to a halt.

I abruptly turned my head.

"What?" I asked him, considerably amused and trying to keep from bursting into laughter.

"Paris Hilton. What problems does she have? I mean, she's filthy rich, and yet she doesn't ever have to worry at all about being forced into some career she doesn't want, and she doesn't have to act in some stuffy way to please other people. Maybe she has it easy."

I pondered this, still having a hard time retaining seriousness.

"No, I don't think so. I think her problem is just that - no problems. She's _too_ rich, and never knows what to do with herself. She never has to work for anything, so nothing is worthwhile, or meaningful. Everything is superficial, and if I were her, I would be morbidly depressed, because nothing would ever really _matter_. Always being shoved into the spotlight with all that attention, all eyes on her, drowning in undeserved fame. She can't sing, or act, or do anything that involves REAL talent - and yet, everyone knows her name. But what difference does fame make when it has no value, when you didn't work for it? What a blank feeling."

I think Luke was astounded yet again, by the look on his face. But I didn't give him the chance to verbalize his astoundment, instead opting to interject another question, one that was obviously fitting to be asked.

"Now what on Earth made you think of Paris Hilton? I'm surprised you know who she is."

Luke laughed.

"I was just trying to think of someone who actually _was_ without problems. I thought she might be the one, supposedly being beautiful, rich, and carefree - but again, I have been proven false."

"Yeah, well, what do I know? I'm probably the one who's off-base. Paris Hilton probably loves her life, and wouldn't do anything to change it."

Luke put down his guitar.

"Ah, forget her. Our lives are much more interesting. Mine wasn't before, but..."

I looked at him, at his piercing gaze that at that moment seemed exceedingly penetrating.

"You've made it that way."

He then did something he'd never done before. He placed his hand under my chin, moving my head and aiming it in a certain direction. And it lingered there as he leaned in and brushed his lips against mine, in one quick, fluid, fleeting motion. Before I knew it, I'd let this happen, and I watched him slowly move back to his original position as if he were on a videotape put in reverse, with his eyes averted away, unsure if he'd done the right thing.

I wasn't sure how to tell him. How to tell him that he couldn't possibly have sent a higher degree of wild thrill racing through my body. How he couldn't possibly have brought me closer to home, where I was truly loved. How he couldn't possibly have made me focus any harder on an empty space inside me I usually ignored, a space that now felt slightly filled. I'd never felt something so foreign before that I so welcomed.

So when he shyly turned his eyes on me for a second, treading a little closer to see if he would be allowed further or simply fall through the ground, I just gazed at him, and smiled ever so slightly.

"Yes. Our lives are very interesting." I said.

Relieved and seemingly elated, he reached around and drew me in, and he seemed to tell me that he was thankful. Thankful that I hadn't pushed him away, as I had before.

And as I tell you this now, I'm still scared.

Scared that my cousin's family will turn their backs.

Scared that Alastair will come in the night and bludgeon me in my sleep.

Scared that a certain trio of girls will turn their acts of revenge upon the person who went against them.

Scared that Aunt Libby will be disappointed in me.

And most of all, scared that I'll end up hurting Daphne.

But in that moment, when Luke was holding me close, all that fear was made a little less glaring, a little less imposing, a little less harsh.

And from that moment, I was gone.


	36. The Power Couple

**It was the beginning of October.** Meghan had been in England for just over a month. And now she was standing, with Luke, in front of his school. It had been a 'walk day', and she had stopped there on her way to the academy. The two had made plans.

"Are you ready?" Luke asked her.

"Yes." she answered promptly.

"Are you sure? You know there'll be no turning back."

Meghan looked away for a second.

"I'm sure." she said. "I don't want to hide anymore."

"Well," he said, "you won't be able to hide after this."

She looked at him questioningly.

"It's not like we'll be running naked or something." she told him.

"No, it's not." he agreed. "But it might as well be."

The two walked straight across the street.

"Alright, here we go." he said, as they turned to walk toward Meghan's school.

And he simply slipped his hand through Meghan's. A small, simple gesture. And yet, it was all they had to do.

For as soon as their hands linked together, Meghan had stepped over the edge of the cliff of normalcy. All at once, everyone in the general area turned their eyes on them. Then, a flash! out of nowhere. Another one. Another one. Meghan turned her head this way and that, to see where they were coming from, while Luke only knowingly looked on.

"Wh-where's that coming from?" she asked him, starting to feel alarmed.

"They're photographers." he told her. "They're always here. Anywhere the socialites frequent."

"For the..._tabloids?!_"

"Yes. For the tabloids. And magazines. And even the newspaper. Meghan, I'm sorry, but I warned you."

She kept turning her head spasmatically, like a hamster in a maze. "I...what..."

At this, Luke squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Don't you worry. Nothing to fret about. You're only experiencing what I go through every day and going through it with me. And I wouldn't be doing this, or putting you through this, if I didn't honestly believe that we have something special."

She looked up at him, comforted, once more, by the certainty of his voice.

He looked back and smiled for a moment, before suddenly stepping protectively in front of Meghan.

"You! STOP! Get out of here!" he yelled at a bumbling photographer who'd just jumped in front of them, out of nowhere. The man immediately hobbled a few feet away, but not before getting a good close-up of the pair. He stopped to get a few more as Luke and Meghan quickened their pace.

"So...I'm guessing they know it's you. I mean, over here."

"Pretty much. I mean, the likelihood of my being somewhere around the school I attend is very high."

They reached the front of the school, and before Meghan had a chance to say anything more, she was interrupted by the sound of a catfight.

Wait, no - it was just Clarissa. Shrieking.

This was so startling to Meghan that she screamed a bit as well. But that might have partly been because today, Clarissa's grandfather had ridden to school with her - and had leaned his head out of the car window to see what she was fussing about.

Luke, who had been considerably startled as well, stopped, and took a small step back.

"LUCAS!!!!!! You...you PIG!!!!"

"Clarissa." Luke said, trying to be calm. "Now, let's be reasonable-"

"I HATE YOU!"

She then ran off in a rage, with all of her girl minions running off to comfort her. They were followed by Alastair, who'd stepped out of the car in haste. He growled a simple "How _dare_ you?!" at Luke, and then proceeded to lock his eyes on Meghan, seemingly drilling holes into her face, before turning to fast-walk into the school.

Luke, who actually seemed pretty unfazed by the man's remark, turned to Meghan - and realized that she was breathing very heavily.

"Meghan...are you alright?"

"I...I don't know."

"Don't mind them. Please. They're just rubbish."

He pulled her close, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, very anguished.

"Rubbish, I tell you. That's all." he repeated.

"You don't understand." she shakily whimpered. "You don't know. But they can do things."

He looked down at her, puzzled.

"Now, that's just nonsense. They can't do anything to you. I swear, I won't let them."

Meghan wanted to let that comfort her, but it didn't. Because he really _didn't_ understand. He couldn't.

"Are you afraid to go in?" he asked her.

Meghan was silent for a few seconds.

"Yes. But I'm going in anyway. Just promise me something."

Luke keep his gaze on her, as the cameras erratically flashed behind them.

"Name it."

Meghan looked up to the sky, which was quickly gathering clouds.

"Promise me that whatever happens, you'll never turn your back. Promise me you'll always feel the way you do right now."

Luke wasn't sure why Meghan considered the situation so urgent, why she was so doubtful. Who cared what Clarissa thought, or what anyone else thought? In his mind, he really didn't need to make those promises to Meghan - he'd already made them to himself.

"Oh, yes. I promise. Scout's honor."

Meghan looked down.

"Please, Luke, be serious. I need you to really promise me. I can go in there if you do."

Luke placed his hand on her shoulder, and faced her straight in the eyes.

"Meghan Reynolds, I promise you. A million times, I promise you. And you had better believe me."

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it again as he raised his head. She looked away, but still squeezed his hand in return, before pulling away to walk into the school. She looked back to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching her go.

Meghan hoped she'd come out of that school alive, so that she'd see him - and her family - once again.

**The American girl drew stares,** upon stares, upon stares - everywhere she went. What she and Luke were doing was revolutionary. No one could believe it.

That's not to say that everyone was hating her for it, however. In fact, most of Jasperstone's students found it not only quite intriguing, but considerably admirable as well. They were starting to feel that maybe, for once, power was shifting _away_ from Clarissa and the rest of the dignified vultures that perched at the top of the social ladder, and _into_ the hands of the general population. Into the hands of the normal people, as if for some reason, they were just as valuable, or just as important.

The teachers felt it too. And the staff. And the parents of those students, who'd seen the couple walking as they were dropping their offspring off at their designated schools. Surfer guy Ian had seen them too, and had shouted a rousing "Fight the power!", not quite sure what the phrase meant, when he'd seen them approach Clarissa.

Needless to say, Meghan was surprised when she saw people clapping as she walked by, as well as hearing the occasional shout of approval from behind her. Even Mr. Harlison, who was traditionally known for his spitting and biting criticisms, seemed brighter as he handed back Meghan's latest math test - with a B plus scrawled across the front. Ms. Blithe seemed a bit less droning as she apparently tried to keep from laughing at the pouting Clarissa who sat in the back.

"I'll get you, Reynolds! I'll get you!" the blonde had kept shouting. When the teacher couldn't help but let a small snicker leak out, the girl had immediately turned to face her and yell, "And you! I'll have you fired! So help me -"

This had caused practically the entire room to burst into laughter, and Ms. Blithe couldn't contain herself anymore as she fell forward in hilarity, banging her fists on her desk. And even Meghan couldn't help but smile.

So Meghan now walked the halls with a bit more poise and confidence, despite the fact that she was surrounded by a strange group of five girls - one indifferent, one oblivious, and three who'd taken to constant glaring. Yes, despite them, Meghan couldn't prevent herself from feeling some pride.

But then, of course, she had to lose it. That is, when she heard her name being called over the loudspeaker.

**I thought I knew** who my enemies were, and I was sure that Clarissa was the worst. But I couldn't have been more wrong.

For as I sat in the headmaster's office, with Mr. Ratfink staring me down, it became quite clear to me who the real enemy was. It was an enemy I shared with my aunt, one who seemed ready to turn a pending negotiation into a choice for me between retreat and war.

"Miss Reynolds, I'm afraid that a very serious matter has arisen. A certain Mr. Alastair Payne has apparently recommended that you be put up for expulsion, on the grounds of alleged harassment toward his granddaughter, Clarissa."

I. Am. So. Sick. Of. That. Name.

"What? I haven't been harassing - "

"Now, just wait a minute. I actually have discussed this matter with Mr. Payne, and was sure to point out that you haven't had any obvious malice toward his granddaughter. He seemed quite unconvinced, but fortunately for you, another voice was thrown into the equation. For as Mr. Payne and I reached about the halfway point of our conversation, I received a phone call - from none other than the incomparable Jocelyn Dashwood. And you can imagine my surprise when I realized that she was actually calling to defend _your_ honor..."

Hold on...did I hear you right?

"Strangely enough, she'd already had her suspicions that he was going to 'pull this stunt' as she worded it, and her suspicions seemed to be confirmed when he didn't immediately return to the residence after seeing off his granddaughter. Well, that, combined with a certain news story about a new couple's arrival on the British social scene, that is."

News story?! What in all this world is going on?!

"Now, Alastair is a very powerful man in this city, but in regards to this school, Jocelyn oversteps that power. And she just happens to be the one person in the entire system that possesses one power in particular: the power to veto an expulsion. And you are one lucky girl, Miss Reynolds, because that's exactly what she's done."

Daphne's Grandma, you rock. Oh, you rock so hard.

"So...what does all this mean?" I said to Ratfink.

"Honestly, I do not know. Of course, I did relay to Lady Dashwood the story of your putting a stop to that juvenile prank a few weeks ago, of that you can be sure. But even she tends to take Mr. Payne's word quite seriously, and I therefore can't quite comprehend her complete disregard for his thoughts on this matter. She was quite adamant, indeed, that he not lay a finger on you."

Did I say you rock, Lady D? Because you do.

"Alastair was very displeased, of course. Furious, actually. But there was nothing he could do."

I was having a hard time trying to keep from smiling. In an attempt to retain a serious face, I pulled to the forefront the memory of this icy man shooting curse words and throwing things against the wall, telling myself that it would be better to wait until I've left the room before I let myself grin.

"As far as where you stand now," he said, very robotically, "you are on very thin ice, in the means that if you are caught personally doing anything to harass Miss Clarissa, you'll be thrown from this school, and in turn , this country, due to the loss of your scholarship. And this time, _no one_ would be able to prevent it. But if there truly has been no harassment, I'd say you have nothing to worry about. Just know that you are being watched. Very closely."

Uh...okay. Whatever.

"Now, I _have _marked your records, because I am required to do so in situations such as these. But if you carry on through the rest of the school year without making another blemish, than the mark will be removed. I have your records here, if you would like to look them over."

He handed me a manila folder with a bunch of papers in it, papers that dated all the way back to my first day of kindergarten. Along with those was a basic transcript, with a dopey picture of me as well as my name, age, address, yada yada yada. But then my eyes came to a rest on something strange on the transcript...something I couldn't help but ponder.

This pondering was interrupted by the uncharacteristically nice headmaster as he spoke yet again.

"There is one other matter, Miss Reynolds, and I'm afraid it is a very grave one. Your acquaintance, Faye Winthrop, was discussed as well, in regards to the fact that she _has_ been directly cited for harassment."

Okay...where are you going with this?

"Mr. Payne hadn't previously known about the girl, but as soon he heard the full story on what she had done, he immediately demanded that she be put up for expulsion as well. And I'm sorry to say that, at least thus far, no one has intercepted that demand."

Wait. What?

"Sir, I'm sorry, but everyone has it all wrong. This can't happen. She's innocent."

"I, too, am very sorry - but her records say just the opposite. Therefore, I must inform you that as we speak, those records are being analyzed by the school board. However, since she associates you - who acquired that rare veto from someone with whom you seem to be in good favor - special cicumstances are taking place. The girl has one month, no more, to acquire either a majority vote against the expulsion from the board or, as you have, one vote against it from Lady Dashwood. Without one of those things, she is as good as gone."

This can't be happening. It can't. All because of me...

"Please. There's got to be something I can do."

"Other than convince Mr. Payne to retract his request, I can't think of anything else. And that, of course, is beyond your ability."

This is all my fault. If it weren't for me, that conversation would've never happened, and that evil man wouldn't ever have known about Faye.

I don't know what I'm going to do. But I've got to do something.

**There you go. Hip grandmas of the world, UNITE!**

**Next you'll find out what happens when someone is so thrown into the spotlight, as Meghan has been...**

**-rf-**


	37. The Encounter

**Hi. Sorry for the delay, but honestly, I wasn't quite sure exactly WHAT I wanted to happen, or exactly how I wanted it to happen. But I'm now pretty satisfied with what I've written. Hope you all like it too! Some big steps are taken... ;)**

**The Ditsy One: Oooooh!!! Yay! New reader! Favorites?! Yay! Thank you!!!!! Lots of exclamation marks!!!!!!!!! Okay!!!**

**scenester7002: I hope you two will be very happy together. :)**

**Mrs.Scott323: No, Clarissa certainly won't like that at all. Which makes it all the more enjoyable, lol. And as for Jocelyn, well...I have a feeling you'll like Chapter 38, very much. ;)**

**And blah, blah, blah, enough of me...**

The halls were empty. Completely empty, as Meghan exited the headmaster's office armed with a late note signed by Ratfink himself. The silence made her feel even more surreal than she already was. Because of her, a brilliant girl was about to be expelled.

Was there a way to stop it? Maybe. She knew one thing that might work - leaving. Giving Alastair what he wanted. Maybe that would save Faye from expulsion. In fact, Meghan was quite sure that it would.

But Meghan's first loyalty was to Daphne, and she would NOT leave without letting her father know that she existed. She would not. And she had about a million other reasons why _not _to leave - it was about the last thing she ever wanted to do.

Besides, it _had_ been Faye's choice to take the blame for that prank. Why she had taken that blame, Meghan could not figure out, but it had still been _Faye's_ prerogative.

All this ran through Meghan's mind as she plodded her way back to class. She was about to turn the corner when she suddenly heard...a noise.

She stopped, and looked straight ahead for a moment, before turning around - to face her worst nightmare.

"Good afternoon, Miss Reynolds." Alastair said casually, with a smirk on his face.

It was all Meghan could do not to draw in a sharp breath. All she could do to hide her intimidation.

"Um, hello." she replied. She wanted to turn away, to keep walking, to vaporize - _anything_ to get out of that stare. But she remained frozen, from head to toe.

"Had a talk with the headmaster, I see." the man commented.

"Yes." Meghan said, before suddenly deciding to indulge her need to be frank. "Why did you try to expel me?"

Alastair just fixated on his inquisitor for a second, before promptly weaseling an answer.

"Why, did not the headmaster discuss that with you? The harassment of my granddaughter is a serious offense."

Meghan chose her words carefully.

"Sir, I haven't committed that offense."

"Ah, my girl, I believe you've proved to be doing quite the contrary, with your..._gallivanting_,shall we say, with young Lucas."

"You shouldn't have tried to expel me." Meghan said simply. "I haven't done anything wrong. And Faye hasn't either."

"You mean that girl who initiated a childish plot to have my granddaughter covered in fruit juice? It's been reported that she _admitted_ to the incident."

"She lied."

"Oh, did she now?" Alastair sneered with an evil smile, obviously amused. "Whose plan _was_ it then? Yours?"

"No."

"Who then?"

"I don't know."

Mr. Payne was silent. He looked away for a minute, still seemingly relaxed. "Never mind that, Miss Reynolds."

"Meghan."

"Yes. Because believe it or not, that's not what I'm really wondering. What I'm wondering, my friend, is how you were somehow able to acquire a pardon from Lady Dashwood. Now _that's_ a puzzle."

"Yes, it is. But tell her thank you, anyways."

"Would you, perhaps, happen to _know_ why she did this?"

Meghan looked at him for a second. There was no denying the fact that she knew exactly why Jocelyn had pardoned her. And Alastair knew, too. He was challenging her.

"No, I wouldn't. I'm glad she thought that highly of me, but I really haven't done anything to deserve her recognition."

Part of that was a lie. But part of it, Meghan thought sadly, was the truth. That sadness was strong enough to set her back on her way to class.

But Alastair found that he had to know just a bit more.

"Do you live with your mother, Meghan?"

She turned.

"Yes, sir."

"Can I ask what her name might be?"

Meghan looked him straight in the eyes.

"Catherine." she said, without a moment's hesitation. She stared a few seconds later, as if trying to make a confirmation with the man that wouldn't make a difference anyhow. Then, with determination, she spun around, headed straight for French class.

**I could agree with Luke,** and call the man rubbish. But calling Alastair rubbish would be an insult to rubbish.

And don't even think about telling me I'm being redundant. I am not in the mood.

The thing is, though, when he asked me what my mother's name was, I came to a realization that I should've come to sooner, but didn't, because I am so dense.

Jocelyn thinks I'm Daphne. And Alastair does, too.

Well, not Daphne _per se,_ but...she thinks I'm her granddaughter. Whoa.

But, seriously! Why didn't I think of this sooner?! There must be something very wrong with me. I mean, I'm just Daphne's age. I _was_ born about four months before her, but still - until February, I'll be seventeen. _Seventeen._

And, hello? The brown hair doesn't help much either. It's the wrong shade of brown...but still brown.

My cousin, really, doesn't look like either one of her parents alone. She looks like both of them, equally mixed. That's why everyone always has a hard time believing that she's Aunt Libby's daughter, rather than me. Because I look so much like my aunt.

Good grief. I look like Aunt Libby.

I mean, not that that's a BAD thing, but...geez.

It's because of my dad, you know. Since he was her brother, and looked somewhat like her himself.

So, yeah. I'm pretty much right at the center of a huge, swirling mess.

How am I going to do this? Meaning, keep Faye from being expelled.

And deal with the now constant publicity that has been bestowed on me, being the "Unidentified Girlfriend of Lucas Brenshire".

And, oh yeah, tell my cousin's FATHER that he brought a child into the world.

It seems like the only allies I have here now are Luke and, well, Daphne's grandma.

Wait a minute. Daphne's grandma...

**It was a rainy Saturday morning** in Meghan's current country of residence. It was the first Saturday in about three weeks that she wouldn't be spending with Luke. Or rather, the paparazzi magnet.

Luke, who had been waiting for her the Wednesday before as well as the Thursday and Friday after that to escort her lovingly out of the school and back to the Winthrops' on his scooter, was in for the day, helping his sister plan for an upcoming Christmas ball she'd be holding in about two months.

The boy had been quite comforting to Meghan on that Wednesday, despite the fact that he had no knowledge of her bout with Alastair. He'd been there to protect her ever since that day, from the crowds that gathered to watch and to photograph them. Meghan was sad that she wouldn't be spending the day with him, but also grateful at the same time.

Because today, she had other plans.

She quickly finished her breakfast, which she had with a flabbergasted Laurence and Emma. The couple hadn't been able to contain their surprise and excitement when they'd heard the news about Luke and Meghan, unsure whether to praise or rebuke her. Fortunately, they'd leaned more to the side of praise, unable to find anything _wrong_, in particular, with the relationship.

Meghan was surprised that they hadn't been alerted of Faye's pending expulsion as of yet - but of course, Faye didn't know about it herself, and Meghan couldn't bear to tell her. All she could do was try to convince her to take back her confession to the bucket prank. So far, that hadn't worked.

The new celebrity couple were about the only thing talked about at meals, therefore - with the exception of Laurence's frustration of his restaurant's reviewing having been postponed for a month. But with that new date quickly approaching, his frustration seemed to be subsiding a bit.

Meghan got up to put her plate in the sink as he blathered on about this, feeling in a bit of a hurry. She then pounded up the stairs.

She was back down in a flash, decked out in a sweater with a red pea coat over it, denim black pants, and a knit beanie hat over her loose hair. Of course, she was questioned as she headed for the door, grabbing an umbrella.

"Meghan, dearie, why are you going out in this weather?"

"Have to see someone. Be back soon." she said briefly, before pushing through and out into the rain. She closed the door behind her, poking the button on the umbrella and making it jump out in front of her. Meghan then made her way down the walk, feeling inside her coat for the outline of a rectangular-shaped object.

Because, maybe, just maybe, she might want to take it out. At some point.

Despite the fact that it terrified her.

She headed determinedly into the drizzle, knowing a pretty formidable walk was in front of her. But the walk didn't intimidate her as much as the destination.

As she slowly reached town, she began to notice people staring at her, which now seemed to be the norm. She walked by a newsstand, not bothering to look, knowing that her face was plastered on the front of most of what was being sold. Either her face, or a manic Clarissa's. Neither of which she cared to see.

She bowed her head and bit the cold, as sharp pinpricks of water hit her face with a sudden gust of wind. Meghan was not about to turn around and go back.

As she passed the academy, she noticed the rain slowly starting to let up, though the wind kept on relentlessly, kicking up her hair and making it thrash wildly. Sooner than she might've liked, she found herself in the high class neighborhood once again, and she willed herself to look up. She felt strange not to be going to the Brenshire mansion. But those feelings could be set aside.

Reading "Dashwood" on the gold plate mounted to the wall made Meghan's heart leap into her throat. Her stomach lurched, and her face felt hot despite the icy rain. She stood there for a moment, staring. Staring at the palace she'd seen in pictures, not knowing what to do next.

"Can I help you, miss?" came a voice.

Meghan turned to a uniformed man behind the gate, startled, and immediately choked on her words.

"I-I, uh, I need to s-see...Lady Dashwood."

"Do you have an appointment?" the man asked her.

"No."

"Then I'm sorry."

"Can I _make_ an appointment?"

"No. You'd have to arrange a meeting with her personally."

"Well...can I have her phone number?"

"No."

"Can I write a letter?"

"Are you a personal contact?"

"No."

"Then again, I'm sorry."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" Meghan asked, frustrated.

"Don't ask me. I don't make the rules. I just enforce them."

Meghan stared at the house again.

"Alright." she said, resigning to what the man had told her. She turned, and started back.

Meghan then heard a cell phone ring. She ignored it and kept walking.

She heard the man exclaim in surprise. She ignored it and kept walking.

But then she heard something else.

"Miss!" the man shouted. "Miss!"

Meghan turned. And she saw the gates. They were opening.


	38. The Important Guest

**In the month and a half she'd been in London,** Meghan had never felt quite so crazy, so wracked with nerves. Her mind seemed to blare with sirens, and out of the blue, she suddenly was conscious of how dry her mouth was.

It was as if she were stepping directly into one of Aunt Libby's photographs. Before, this house and its inhabitants had seemed to exist nowhere but in some fairy tale with a glossy cover. Even when Meghan had met the viscount's mother in person, it hadn't been like this - because the moment she'd left, she'd seemed like some kind of ghost.

But now, to have reality confirmed in such a way, to have those huge iron contraptions move apart, to reveal a sight that only a select few are fortunate enough to see up close...to be welcomed like this, no questions asked, immediately into this castle without a second's hesitation...it was incredible.

As terrified as Meghan was, she was also very grateful. Somehow, this proved to her that she might really be making the right decision. That she wasn't on enemy territory.

The walk to those huge doors should've seemed like an eternity - but it didn't. And those doors came open before Meghan had a chance to even look for a doorbell.

A man in a penguin suit was there, to escort her into a parallel universe.

"Ah, Miss Reynolds. The Madame is very happy that you've come."

Meghan's heart was thrumming like a thousand drums being dropped from the peak of a skyscraper, slamming into the ground. _I'm in his house. I'm in Daphne's father's house. I'm in his house. This is his sofa. This is his warm fireplace. This is the floor he walks on. This is the floor Aunt Libby walked on. This house. This house._

She was being lead...somewhere. Meghan absent-mindedly trailed after the butler, losing more and more control of her thoughts by the second. He came to a stop in what looked like a breakfast nook, until Meghan faintly noticed the teapot, teacups, and tower of tiny cookies and sandwiches that sat upon the table. She was directed to sit, told that Jocelyn would be out in a moment...

_Tea...cookies...Daphne...rain...it's stopped raining...my gosh, it's hot in here...this house...Daphne...something smells good...oh...headache...breathe, just breathe...itch...tea...hot tea...I don't like hot tea...iced tea...yes, that's good..._

"Well, good morning, Meghan."

Meghan's head jerked up from staring at the tea, and her eyes fixated blankly for a moment on the woman standing in front of her.

"Good morning." she squeaked, trying to keep from choking. Where was the calm, collected demeanor she'd had before, in that bathroom? Did it wash away with the punch?

"My, what a nice surprise! I honestly wasn't expecting to have tea this early, but no bother. Why, I would have had the cook bake a cake, had a known we'd be having such an important guest."

Meghan bit into her cheek.

"I am?"

"Oh, yes."

Jocelyn promptly sat and picked up the teapot with grace, pouring from it two cups of steaming liquid.

"Do you like your tea with sugar?" she asked the important guest.

"Sure." Meghan told her, not knowing how else to respond. She was far too focused on trying to keep from having a breakdown.

"Cream?"

"Okay." Meghan knew she was throwing everything she'd learned from _English Etiquette for Dummies_ completely out the window.

Jocelyn didn't seem to notice, however, as she daintily poured a frothy, white substance into Meghan's cup, then proceeding to pass it to her on a saucer. Seeing Jocelyn pick up the tiny little spoon that sat in her saucer to stir her tea, Meghan decided to do the same.

_Clinkety-clank! Clinkety-clank!_

"It's been a beautiful morning, I should think - despite the rain, and...what not."

_Clink-clink! Clankety-clank!_

"Living here, you learn to love the rain just as much as the sun."

_Clink-clink-clank! Clink-clink-clank! Clank!_

"Are you quite alright, dear?"

Meghan abruptly stopped clinking the spoon, suddenly aware that not only had she been looking downward the entire time, but also that Jocelyn had long stopped stirring.

_Well. This is going well._

"Mmm? Oh! Um, sure." Meghan quickly gathered herself, sitting up straight. "Yes! I am alright."

Jocelyn smiled.

"Good. So, what brings you here?" she asked.

For a moment, Meghan felt that she had been caught slightly off guard. _Faye. Remember?_

"I wanted to thank you." Meghan stated, as cleanly as she could. "For, um, keeping me from being expelled."

Jocelyn's eyes drifted to the side for a moment as she smiled broader. She then turned back to Meghan, to respond.

"Well, you're quite welcome, dear. I would not have had it any other way, you know."

Meghan fought to resist the urge to ask her why that was. Fortunately, though, Meghan found that she was slowly gaining her bearings.

"Thanks. I mean, for caring. I think you're pretty cool."

Jocelyn's eyes widened. Her hand flew to her chest.

"My! I must say, Meghan, that I am quite flattered by that statement. It is quite a lot to be 'cool', isn't it?"

Meghan found herself actually laughing a bit at that.

"Well, yeah, I guess it is." she told her. Her laughing halted for a moment, however, when she tasted her tea. Her face couldn't help but contort into a bitter grimace.

Jocelyn saw this, and chuckled.

"Perhaps you _don't _like your tea with cream and sugar." she suggested.

Meghan was finding out fast that it was best to be frank and truthful with people in this country. Kind of like she was with...people in her own country.

"No." Meghan sputtered, her tongue moving quite actively inside of her mouth. "I like it with ice."

"I would've thought as much." Jocelyn agreed, knowingly. "I'll have Ganes bring you a new cup - of _cold_ tea." she said, not quite able to keep from shuddering at the utterance of the word _cold._ "You'll have to excuse me. Iced tea really isn't quite my fancy."

"You'll have to excuse _me._" Meghan replied, feeling as if she were drunk. "Because I have no idea what I'm doing. What's this?" she asked, suddenly picking up one of the little sandwiches, a possible candidate to get rid of the tea's bitter taste.

"Watercress." Jocelyn answered, still smiling warmly as she studied Meghan.

Meghan took a bite. She chewed warily for a few seconds, before quickly nodding in casual approval.

"It's pretty good. I mean, whatever it is." she said with a grin. She was starting to actually feel comfortable with this woman, and fell contentedly silent as she chewed on her sandwich, her head in the clouds.

"Is there anything more you'd like to talk about, Meghan?" Jocelyn asked.

"Mm-hm." Meghan told her dreamily, looking out the window. "I wanted to ask you...about my friend...Daphne..."

"Your friend Daphne?" Jocelyn repeated.

Hearing this, Meghan's head suddenly snapped up in attention, and she dropped her little sandwich in the rejected tea.

"No...no, did I say...I meant...Faye! My friend Faye..." Panicked, Meghan rested her elbows on the table as she rubbed the sides of her head.

"Who's Daphne, then?"

"My...other friend."

Meghan felt like Alice at the Mad Hatter's tea party. Only, _she_ was the one who was mad.

Jocelyn rested a gentle hand on Meghan's arm, concerned.

"Now, what in this world has got you so worked up?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired. I know I must be tired..."

Jocelyn looked Meghan straight in the eyes.

"Meghan, I want you to know something, right now. I want you to know that you can tell me the truth. I know you've only just met me, but please believe that you can tell me _anything._ Anything, I don't care _what _it is - tell me, and I'll understand."

Meghan stared into Jocelyn's deep, compassionate eyes. She felt frozen in their gaze, a gaze that told her she might be making things far more complicated than they actually were. She felt something she hadn't felt in a long time, looking at a face that somehow seemed to be as familiar as breathing.

_"Meghan, please, PLEASE tell me what's wrong. I don't care what you say. Tell me, so I can make you feel better."_

_Meghan looked tearfully up at the face of the one who tried to comfort her, latching onto its warm expression._

_"I...I miss him, Daphne...I miss him so much..."_

As much as she wanted her to be...

_"Why did this have to happen...why can't he just come home..."_

Jocelyn wasn't _her_ grandmother.

"I...I'm not..."

"Honestly, Mother." came a voice. "I can't believe they've gone back on their agreement. Oh, this blasted paperwork -"

The voice came to a halt as the feet of the one it belonged to stopped in the tea room doorway.

And when Meghan saw exactly who it was that stood three feet away from her, _saw_ the shocked expression on his face as he went as pale as she did, _saw _the eyes of her eyes of her aunt's one true love, eyes that now belonged to her cousin...every emotion that connected her and held her together melted, all in one solitary second. Part of her wanted to embrace him, while another part wanted to run far, far away.

Her aunt knew what it was like. She knew this feeling. But other than that one jaded woman, no one on Earth had ever been so floored as Meghan was, at the sight of this one frenzied man.

**And so, they meet. Finally. Hope that was to your liking.**

**Although this could be taken as sort of cliffhanger. But don't fret - you won't have to wait too many YEARS to find out what happens next, muuuaahahaha.**

**I'm kidding. Be back in a week. **

**-rf-**


	39. The Game

**Yay! Here are the chapters as promised.**

**Christine Writer: Oh, yes, I do wonder...**

**The Ditzy One: Don't worry, I'm lazy too. :P Happy to have you in suspense!**

**Mrs.Scott323: Muuaaha. (sorry, too much Alastair and Clarissa) **

It seemed like forever, how long they were staring. Meghan had quickly withdrawn from Jocelyn, now sitting up straight in her chair, trying unsuccessfully to keep from blushing. Jocelyn was startled for a moment, but then looked relatively calm as she, too, straightened herself up, smiling.

"Why, hello, Henry dear. Meghan here and I were just having tea. Would you like to join us?"

Henry, who looked very blank and befuddled, shifted his eyes back and forth from Meghan, to his mother, to the ground. He then gathered himself somewhat, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Mother..." he said, in a confused tone. You didn't tell me we were having guests..."

"Well, I didn't know we were either, dear. But I think it's rather nice that this very sweet girl decided to pay us a visit."

Henry rubbed his neck some more.

"Eh...yes! Yes, you're right, Mother..."

He approached Meghan decisively.

"Terribly sorry. I've forgotten my manners. Meghan, is it?"

She nodded.

"Hello. I'm Henry. Pleasure to meet you." he said, holding out his hand.

Meghan vaguely took it, still fixated on his face, lost in a dream.

"Hi." was all she could force herself to say. "You too."

She saw the man smile.

"My, you're the American, aren't you?" he asked her.

Meghan couldn't help but smile a bit as well, hearing every word he said and hanging off of each of them.

"Yeah...I mean, yes, I am."

They were caught in each other's gaze for a good three seconds, both smiling. Then, Henry regained himself, softly slipping his hand away from Meghan's and standing straight up.

"Right then. Anyhow, very sorry for interrupting, I'll just be getting back to my work..."

"Didn't you have something you wanted to tell me, Henry?" Jocelyn quipped as he was about to leave.

Henry turned.

"Er...I was only going to show you these papers, they're quite confusing though, really, and seeing as you're occupied right at the moment, I won't bother you with this..."

"Nonsense. Why don't we all move into the sitting room, and you can show me your papers in there. I've have Ganes start a fire, I should think that would be quite pleasant."

"But I'm sure Miss Meghan wouldn't be interested in..."

Jocelyn had already bustled out the door. Henry watched after her for a moment, then slowly turned to Meghan.

"Well, shall we follow her?" he asked the girl, giving in with a bit of a half-smile.

Meghan smiled and nodded. She stood up, and Henry waited for her to reach the door. He then felt so inclined as to lace his arm through hers, sort of jokingly, to nobly "escort" her into the sitting room. Chills ran up Meghan's spine. Daphne. Daphne was related to this man, and Meghan was _touching_ him.

They emerged back into the room Meghan had already walked through, where the butler was already starting a roaring fire. Meghan saw Jocelyn seated on one end of a small sofa with carved wood edges and clawed feet. Meghan separated from Henry and apprehensively sat on the other end, while the remaining member of the group took his seat in a matching armchair near his mother.

The three were soon left alone in front of the crackling flames, and Meghan was soon forced to remove her coat. Henry, not sure what else to do, began to discuss the infamous papers with his mother, who seemed to be extremely intrigued.

_What does he need that advisor for?_ Meghan found herself thinking. _She seems good enough._

Inevitably, it seemed, Henry ran out of things to discuss about the documents, and Meghan was soon remembered and thrown back into the conversation. By Jocelyn, of course.

"So, Meghan. What is it like in New York? Do you have an apartment?"

Meghan wasn't sure for a moment how Jocelyn had known that it was specifically _New York_ that she came from. Then she remembered the news stories, the articles that had already been written about her. She answered.

"I live in an old artist's loft." she said simply.

"How very interesting! With your parents, I presume?"

"No, just my mom. And my aunt and cousin."

"Lovely. What does your mother do?"

Henry seemed to be staring at the wall. Meghan wanted to stare at the wall with him. But she kept her eyes directed at Jocelyn.

"She's an executive's assistant."

"Ah. And your aunt?"

Meghan tensed.

"My aunt's in the wedding business." she replied, as evenly as she could. "Kind of like my host-mother, Emma."

"Oh, would that be Emma Winthrop? The renowned wedding planner from Ireland?"

"You know her?"

"Oh, yes!" Jocelyn answered. "She planned the Harrison wedding."

"Oh."

A long silence immediately followed, as Jocelyn had apparently run out of questions. She certainly was trying.

Meghan remembered that her etiquette book had mentioned something about not being the monopolizing subject of a conversation, about asking others about themselves. But Meghan couldn't very well ask Henry and Jocelyn about where _they_ lived, or what _they_ did. She obviously already knew.

Meghan saw that Henry seemed kind of nervous - as she was - which made her heart flutter. It showed...it showed that he remembered Aunt Libby. Maybe he was thinking about her. Right now.

But Meghan knew she had to find a way to change the subject. Some way to make everything less dry, less tense. Like Henry had done, slipping his arm through hers.

She looked around the room, trying to find something she could compliment them on, or ask them about. Her eyes settled on a chess table, standing dormant in the corner.

"You have a chess game?" she suddenly asked Henry a burst of nerve.

The charmingly anxious man took a second to comprehend the question, which he'd barely heard despite the fact that Meghan had said it quite clearly and audibly. He then absentmindedly glanced over at the chess table.

"Hmmm? Why, yes. We do. I er, never really use it though. No one around here other than myself is very much interested in the game. My advisor's actually the only one who knows how to play, and I can't get him to sit down long enough. I'd always like a go at it, but I've usually got no one to play it with."

It was then that Meghan, once again, did something that she thought was completely crazy.

"I know how to play chess." she told him.

Henry looked up, and his mouth twisted once again into a bit of a smile.

"Really...what say we have a game then, eh? You and me?" he said, with a little hesitation.

"Okay." Meghan answered.

His smiled broadened a little as he nodded his head toward the table, signaling Meghan to stand as he stood himself. Soon they were both seated facing each other over a small, checkered game board. Jocelyn, who indeed seemed very content with this, picked up a book and started to read, while the fire crackled on.

"Best two out of three?" Henry asked.

"Sure." Meghan answered.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of this. This very strange activity she was partaking in. For about the fifteenth time since she'd first received her congratulatory letter, Meghan again felt surreal. About half an hour ago, she had been standing out in the rain, a common person blocked out by iron bars. Now, she was inches away from _him._ Now, he existed. Now, this was reality.

Meghan moved the pawns, but wasn't thinking about the game. It was all just too incredible.

"Check mate."

She loved her cousin, so very much. She knew her like no one knew her, her aunt had said. And Meghan could see her in this man. Her chess partner.

"How do like London?" Henry suddenly asked.

Meghan looked up at him, and could do nothing but let words spill out.

"I love London. I think it's beautiful."

Henry crossed his fingers together and looked up, and away. He seemed to be in some kind of wondrous thought.

"Yes, it is a fine city, isn't it?" he said mistily. "What made you want to come here?"

When Meghan paused, he seemed to bristle, as if he thought the question was a bad idea. Meghan saw this, and smiled.

"I'm not really sure." she told him. "I think this is just my city. You know, the one I've always dreamed of coming to."

Henry's eyes were locked on the brown-haired girl as she moved one of the game pieces, but really moved _him_ more.

"Because most people dream about New York. But I already live there. So this was the 'somewhere else', and I think when most people dream, their dreams are 'somewhere else'. And I think I just _had_ to come here. I really don't know why. I just did."

And now, _he_ was the one who was floored. My, it had been such a long time since someone had talked to him in such a way...

"It's your turn." Meghan informed him with a little grin.

His mind snapped back to the game, and he did in fact take his turn, before promptly making a surprised announcement.

"I...I win." he told her.

Meghan looked at the board. He was right.

"Oh. Would you look at that." Meghan said rather carelessly.

Henry grinned. A goofy grin, Meghan thought. A little smug, even.

"Well. And I thought you could play chess." he said slyly.

Meghan couldn't help herself. She grinned back.

"Okay. So that's how it is. Well, there's still two games left, and mark my words, you're going down, buddy. You are going _down._"

It was as if Daphne had taken over her body. And yet, she was sitting right in front of her.

Henry chuckled at this.

"We'll see about that." he said, a little cocky as he set up the board for round two.

And so, an hour passed. But it seemed like five minutes of a wonderful dream. Because they talked.

Not about things. Or people. But about the game they were playing, which was trivial but somehow made important as Meghan Reynolds and Henry Dashwood began to cross a bridge from different sides that met in the middle. A bridge that bypassed the social ladder and made it obsolete, casting aside differences of 'money' and 'class' and 'nationality', as if _they_ were what were trivial. What a concept.

"Oh, so that's how you're going to play it. Okay, well, how does this suit you?"

"Ah. Very clever. But I have a plan."

"Plan, huh? Good luck with that."

"Oh, luck. I don't need luck."

"Of course not! You have it all figured out. But did you expect..._this?_"

"Indeed I did not. No bother. Slight change of my plan. Still a right good plan, though."

"I'm sure. I mean, if it includes losing."

"It does include losing. Your losing."

"Aren't you smart?"

And they somehow forgot a little, who they were talking to. Right now, it didn't matter. Just a silly game, though.

**It was another hour later.** Henry actually _had _gone down, with Meghan winning both of the next two rounds. They'd played more rounds after that, and somehow lost track of time. Reluctantly, Jocelyn had interrupted them, telling them to stop for high tea.

"I really must get back to work." Henry commented, somewhat back to his senses at this. "But...I am rather hungry for some...watercress sandwiches."

He ate these five minutes later, back in the tearoom. The three of them sat in silence - but it was a more contented silence.

Meghan watched him eat. She watched him take a tiny bite of sandwich, then immediately set it down on his plate to take a tiny sip of tea. He then wiped his hands a bit on the fabric napkin he had in his lap, and started again, only with two bites. After taking another sip and wiping once more, he bit into the sandwich again, springing for a whopping four bites this time.

_I guess he's savoring the - okay, that's just creepy._

Meghan ate and sipped as well, and kept watching. There he was. Right in front of her.

It would be so easy.

And right now, Meghan was sure, Daphne was sitting - or maybe sleeping, with that stinking time difference - alone. Alone in that little room, while Meghan sat right next to _her_ father.

_Daphne's_ father. That's who she'd been joking and laughing with. Meghan couldn't laugh and joke with _her _father - because he was gone.

But Daphne's father was here. Right here. This was her chance.

Meghan looked at him.

"Can I ask you something?"

Henry paused the relentless chewing of his tiny bite of sandwich to look back at Meghan. He looked calm and open as he swallowed and gave her his answer.

"I...don't suppose why not."

And right then, Meghan began to feel very, very hot. Her heart began to pound, hard and fast. She would have to...to force it...she could do this...

"I was just wondering if...if maybe you knew..."

"Sir." came a voice.

Henry turned to look behind him, and Meghan saw that the voice came from Ganes, the waiter.

"Yes?"

"Master Luke is here to see you."

_Luke?_

Someone new entered the room.

"Lord Dashwood, I have a note from my father..."

The newcomer caught sight of the American girl and stopped.

"Meghan?" Luke questioned, wide-eyed in shock. "What are you doing here?"


	40. The Necklace

**And what **_**was**_** she doing here?**

"Good afternoon, Lucas." Jocelyn said warmly.

"Oh, I beg your pardon. Good afternoon, Lady Dashwood." Luke replied politely. He then turned to Henry. "I didn't know you were all good friends with Meghan." Luke smiled, but seemed indeed quite confused.

Meghan's hand went behind her neck.

"Hi, Luke."

Luke turned back to her, and his smile grew bigger.

"Yes, hello! What a nice surprise this is."

Meghan stood up as he approached her, and was surprised to feel him peck her on the cheek without holding back, as his hands grasped hers in a lovely greeting.

Jocelyn pressed her palms to her chest, silently swooning as her lips curled into a smile. Henry, meanwhile, just stood for a bit, feeling awkward as usual. Then, he spoke.

"Right then. I really must be getting back to work..."

Luke broke his gaze with Meghan at this, remembering his original business.

"Hold it - I have something for you." He handed some sort of document to the frazzled Englishman. "From Dad. He'd like to meet you for lunch."

Henry nodded vaguely at this as he tucked the letter into his jacket.

"Yes, yes, tell him I'll look into my schedule." he said, sounding a bit hurried. "If you'll excuse me, however, I must get back to my office. It was very lovely meeting you, Meghan."

Meghan looked at him. So much for her chance.

Before walking out, Henry did make one other comment that he deemed necessary.

"Er...you're welcome here anytime. Just so you know that."

"Thanks." she said contentedly. "I'll see you."

He smiled, then flew off in a mad dash for his writing desk.

With that, Meghan and Luke turned back to each other.

"Well, isn't this lucky! I've just finished helping my sister. Funny story, really. Everyone became so fed up with the planning, what with all of the other Christmas parties that will be interfering and such, she decided to cancel the Christmas ball - and have a New Year's ball instead! We won't have to plan for another month! Would do you think of that?"

Meghan, who was still why fact planning for a ball had to be made _two months _in advance, simply grinned at him.

"That's awesome."

"Yes, I thought so. And now, considering the rest of my day is clear, what say you and I do some "chilling" together?"

Meghan chuckled.

"Okay. As long as you don't ever use the term "chilling" for references to anything other than freezing food ever again."

"Yes, I _was_ feeling a bit odd about it. Alright then. Shall we be off?"

The three all moved into the sitting room. Meghan picked up her coat.

"Have you got a mac?" Luke asked her, a bit slyly. "It's started raining again."

"No, sorry, I don't." Meghan said, equally sly. "Didn't bring any raincoats with me. But this will do."She held up her coat.

Luke shook his head - he still hadn't stumped his American friend. He started to make his way to the door, and Meghan started to follow - before she remembered that she couldn't leave yet.

"Luke." she said. "Please, can you wait a minute? I still have to do something."

The boy was confused, but obliged to Meghan wish. He went to stand by the door, and saluted to her.

Meghan giggled a bit, then walked back into the sitting room, where Jocelyn was still standing.

"Thought you might be back." the woman said with a smile.

"I still haven't told you...about my friend, Faye. She's being expelled."

"Oh?" Jocelyn mused. "Why is that?"

"She admitted to trying to dump punch on...well, Clarissa. But she won't admit to the real truth - that she didn't have anything to do with it. And now she's gonna lose her scholarship, and be kicked out, and she'll never get into Oxford - "

"Consider your problem solved." Jocelyn said simply.

Meghan smiled, grateful.

"Thank you. Thank you, so much."

"It's no trouble. Whatever you need, Meghan, don't hesitate to ask."

_Don't hesitate to ask..._

Meghan looked down.

"Then can I ask you something else?" she asked.

"And what would that be?"

She closed her eyes.

"Can I ask you to understand that my friend, Daphne...she's also my cousin."

"How very lovely. She's as beautiful as you are, I'm sure."

Meghan looked up, into those eyes yet again. It was more than obvious, what she should do next.

"I have a picture of her. I can show it to you, if you want."

"Oh yes, dear. I'd love to see it."

And Meghan reached into her coat, ready to throw it all down on the table, ready to show this woman the truth, ready to give Daphne what she'd always wanted.

She handed Jocelyn one thing: the school picture.

And she had fully planned on handing her the rest, maybe a minute later, at the most.

She would've done it, really - if they hadn't at that very moment heard an ear-shattering shriek.

"WHAT IN BLOODY --- ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

Meghan looked at her challenger, standing in a pink fluffy robe with a green facial mask (finally resembling her true self), and then looked back at Jocelyn, pained.

"I'll be back. I promise." Meghan told her.

And with that, Jocelyn was left standing there, holding that picture. Meghan had bolted from the room and out the door with Luke. But somehow, the picture seemed to make Jocelyn very, very happy.

The Green Hollering Witch, however, was not happy. That is, not until she found a shiny, smooth silver object on the ground near the door. A shiny little object with the name _Meghan Reynolds_ in a scrawling engraving on the back.

Oh, how very amusing.

**"How did you know what a mac was?"**

Meghan looked up from her delicious sandwich, made with quality by expert chefs at none other then The Crystal Spoon, which was today's destination for the "Wild Couple", as they'd been branded in many magazines. She had insisted that it would be a wonderful choice, and Luke had soon agreed, after trying the steak.

"What?" she said.

"How did you know what a mac was?" Luke repeated. "I thought you were an American."

"I am." she told him. "But that song, Penny Lane - like the horse, remember? It has a line that goes, _And the banker doesn't wear a mac, in the pouring rain..._"

"Very strange."

"_Very strange._" Meghan sang, laughing. "Exactly."

"Is that my good friend Luke, talking about Beatles songs?" came a voice. "And what's this, Miss Meghan as well?

They looked up to see a familiar surfer-guy busboy waltzing over to them.

"Ian?" Luke questioned, surprised. "I didn't know you worked here."

"Well, of course you wouldn't know." Ian said, with a smirk. "Snobs like you wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this."

Luke mirrored this smirk, with a bit of disgruntled sarcasm.

"Aren't you something?"

"I certainly am." Ian laughed. "And how are you, Meghan?"

"I'm...good. Nice to see you."

"Luke here is very lucky to have you." Ian announced. "Isn't that right?"

"Very true." Luke conceded. "Shouldn't you be cleaning tables, or something."

Ian started to answer, but suddenly froze, staring wide-eyed out the window next to which Meghan and Luke had been dining. The two of them turned to see what he was staring at...and came face-to-face with about ten different cameras.

Meghan screamed as they all started flashing like crazy, and caught a flash from across the room - yet another photographer was there, drinking coffee. She looked at Luke.

"Let's go." he said firmly. He grabbed Meghan by the arm and pulled her out of the booth. They made a beeline for the door.

"Wait!" Luke cried. "Meghan, I wanted to ask you - do you have a sister?"

"No." she replied in a haste. "But I do have a cousin." she said with a smile.

She just barely was able to catch Ian smiling back before she and Luke pushed out the door and onto the London streets.

**They were somewhere in town.** They didn't quite know _where_ they were. They just knew that they were out of breath, and needed to stop.

Meghan and Luke were both laughing hysterically, despite their troubles. The former was bent over as she stood gasping for breath, holding her arms against her stomach.

"Well, that was something of a rush, yeah?" Luke quipped through his laughter.

"That's an understatement." Meghan replied, still hugging herself as she stood up straight.

"I'm so sorry, Meghan." the boy told her. "I'm sorry that you have to go through this."

"It's alright." she told him. "Actually, to tell you the truth, cameras are the least of my worries."

Luke put his arm around her, drawing her in.

"No worries." he told her. "You let me take care of the worries."

"I don't...I don't know if you can." Meghan breathed as she put her arms around him and they came together in embrace.

As if on cue, Meghan suddenly felt something drop out of her coat and onto the ground. She immediately backed away, to see the remaining contents of the envelope all spilled out in front of her.

And in front of Luke.

Who stooped to pick up a document printed in the state of New York.

Who read said document.

Who looked at Meghan in confusion after reading that document.

"Meghan." he said. "Is this the worry you're talking about?"

She looked at him as if someone had suddenly haled off and punched her in the stomach. Just like that. And all she could do was nod as tears began to roll down her face.

Luke picked up the remaining three objects. Within seconds, he'd pieced everything together. Meghan turned away, and started to cry.

And then she felt herself being pulled into another embrace. She sobbed into a shoulder she had been sure she'd lost.

"Meghan. Please. Don't cry." Luke said, as soothingly as he could muster in his shocked state. "I'm sorry."

"No." came her muffled cry. "I'm the one who should be sorry..."

Meghan instinctfully grabbed for her silver locket. The locket she always trusted to be hanging there, faithfully latched at the back of her neck.

Tonight, however, it had betrayed that trust.

"My locket!" she yelped, pulling away and frantically touching her neck and feeling inside her pockets. "It...it fell off...it's gone!"

Seeing this, Luke thought for a moment, then reached into his own pocket. He pulled out a small black box.

"I'll help you look for it." he told her. "But in the meantime, why don't you wear this instead?"

He opened the box, and through her tear-stricken eyes, Meghan recognized the glittering butterfly necklace she'd seen before. She looked back up at him in awe.

"Not as a replacement, or anything." he continued. "But I've been carrying this around for some time, and now seemed like a good time...to you know, give it to you."

He took out the necklace and stepped behind her. And for once, Meghan made no protest as he hung the glittering jewels around her neck.

And then she turned to face him. And their eyes met. And she felt closer to him than ever before.

He knew everything now. He knew her inside and out. And it felt wonderful.

**Hope that was a surprising er, twist. He.**

**Will be back soon**

**-rf-**


	41. The Truth About Meghan

**Uh...yeah.**

**I got knocked off the bandwagon. Got a nasty bruise. What knocked me off? College, writer's block, cough laziness cough...**

**Alright, hate me if you want. Just don't hate the story. At least know, though, that I couldn't bear to make you wait any longer, and have therefore only posted one chapter. It's extremely long, though - and pretty revealing. Hope you like.**

**Mrs.Scott323: Oooh, glad you liked the twist. :) And I was a little iffy about the chess game before, but now I feel better. Thanks!**

A girl and boy sat silent in a park that lay behind a formerly chattery girl's house. The girl sat on the bench of a picnic table, the boy sitting on the table itself, his feet set firmly on the bench near the girl. They both gazed off in different directions, swimming in the churning waters of philosophy.

"I may have said this before." Luke commented. "But no matter, I'll say it again. Meghan, you never cease to amaze me."

Meghan just kept gazing off, fingering the picture of Henry and Libby together in her hands.

"I've been thinking." he said. "If Henry Dashwood is your _cousin's _father...doesn't that make him _your_ uncle?"

She looked up at him.

"It would." she agreed. "If he had actually married my aunt. But he didn't. So...he isn't."

Meghan was surprised at how much it saddened her to say that.

"Didn't you say that they had some kind of ceremony, in Monaco or something?" Luke asked her.

She giggled.

"Morocco. Yes. But it wasn't legal, and obviously, it didn't count."

Luke still shook his head, deeming the situation just too stark, entirely.

"But you are related to someone who is related to him. I should think that would count for something, wouldn't it?"

Meghan smiled a bit at him, though vaguely.

"In a perfect world, it would." she told him. "But this is the real world, Luke."

Very disappointed at this, Luke held onto Meghan's gaze for a few seconds, before glancing up to see the distant flash of yet another camera, apparently hidden in the bushes. He sighed.

"Yeah?" he quipped. "Well, I hate the real world."

Then they got up, to wander off to who knows where. The photographer might've followed them, had he not at that moment been ambushed by a team of angry squirrels and a disgruntled raccoon, all sharing a strong distaste for flashy things.

**After all of the events** that took place that day, I didn't think I'd ever be able to focus on studying math. But I tried, anyway.

Luke dropped me off at the cottage, and I went inside, my mind still blown. I vaguely greeted Emma, who was bustling in the kitchen. I dodged a flying bowl that seemed to come from the direction of a certain high chair, and heard Great Uncle Wallace squawking as usual as I made my way to the stairs.

Entering the room I shared with Faye was downright depressing. Dare I say, morbid. Only the small lamp on her nightstand was on, and on its dimmest setting at that. I could just make out the shape of her body under the covers, and some tussles of blonde hair poking out at the top. I didn't, however, hear the rhythmic, even breathing of peaceful sleep - which meant that yet again, Faye was just lying awake, staring into the darkness.

I could only shudder at the thought of what it would be like if Faye had found out about her pending expulsion, if Daphne's grandma hadn't put a stop to it. It would be a morgue in here, literally.

Quickly, I grabbed my book bag and skittered out, shutting the door behind me. I wanted to talk to her, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. I'd already tried.

My usual study spot was the sitting room, with its cheery mint green walls. This is where I went. I sat down in one of the very comfortable chairs this room hosted, proceeding to open my bag and spread all of its contents out on the coffee table in front of me.

It was then that I noticed, among those contents, a manila folder. The manila folder that Ratbreath had given me, that held my "records".

I decided to look at it again. So my math homework would get postponed for a few minutes. Big deal! Wasn't that the purpose of math homework? To be postponed until there was absolutely nothing left in the world for a person to get their hands on that would distract them from it?

Anyway, I opened the folder, and started reading my information. Meaning, as if I didn't already know what it was.

But as it turns out, there was something contained in that folder that I didn't already know. And it suddenly came back to me - that I'd read it in the HM's office, and that I'd been confounded by it.

See, there was a little space on one of the papers that read "Nationality". Right next to the space for "Blood Type" (By the way, if you're Type B and ever need a transfusion, I'm your girl).

And in this space was printed the words "Dual-Citizenship".

This is why I was confused. Dual-Citizenship? What in the world does _that_ mean? Was I born in the land of fencing or something? As far as I knew, in New York, people aren't that big on fencing. I mean, I'm sure _some_ people in New York like to fence, but...

Okay. That's nonsense.

I realized that I'd just have to ask Mom or Aunt Libby about it, the next time I spoke to them.

And then the phone rang. And I heard an Irish voice call for me seconds later, saying that someone I knew was on the line.

Funny how that works, huh?

"Hello?"

"Hello, Meghan."

It was my aunt again.

"Hey, Auntie Libbs."

"Is there something you'd like to tell me, by any chance?"

Whoa. That's a broad spectrum.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, would you mind, Meg, explaining to me why you're picture is on the cover of _People_ magazine, walking along and holding the hand of a British aristocrat named 'Lucas Brenshire'?"

Oh. That. Geez, it's even reached _my_ country? Whatever happened to Britney Spears?

"Okay, what about it?"

"What about it, Meghan?! Do you even _know_ what you're getting yourself into? Why have you been keeping this person from us?"

"I haven't entirely. I told Daphne."

"Oh, well, that's different then, isn't it? C'mon, Meghan! What is going on with you?!"

I was getting increasingly uncomfortable. Aunt Libby...she just doesn't _get_ like this.

"Nothing's going on. Luke is a guy, and I like him. And he likes me."

"Really? Well, according to that article, it's a little more complicated then that."

Article? Suddenly an _article_ is Aunt Libby's all-knowing source of wisdom and truth?

"It's...it's not that bad..."

"It says that this 'Luke' person is the son of some lord, and that he is the object of affections from a certain _Clarissa Payne._"

Halt! Rewind! Did she just say...

"Okay, maybe that part's bad."

"You think? I don't...I don't believe this, Meghan. Not only did you keep this boy from us, but you kept something bigger. About this girl. And I think you know what I mean."

Stinking article.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Libby..."

"And you kept this all to yourself. Oh wait, excuse me, I suppose you told _Daphne_ about all this."

Uh, rude much? Who are you, and what have you done with my aunt?

"You promised me, Meghan. You promised me you'd be responsible. And then you turn around and go gallivanting with this boy."

Gallivanting...that sounded familiar...

_" - gallivanting, shall we say, with young Lucas."_

"I honestly don't know what you're thinking. How could you do this? How could you keep all these secrets?"

I could say that it was the straw that broke the camel's back. But I'm not a camel, and if I were, a straw would do nothing to me, because it is a flimsy piece of plastic. So it was more like the sledgehammer that fell on my toe. Because like a sledgehammer hitting my toe would do, Aunt Libby's words caused me to explode in tears.

"Me? ME?! What about you?! How can you say that to me, when you're the one with all the secrets?!"

I heard silence for a moment.

"Meghan, don't speak to me in that tone." she said, calm all of a sudden.

"Tone? Don't talk to me about my tone. You were so cold to me, just now. Why are you criticizing me for keeping things from you, when you're keeping things from Mom, and...from me? You...you hypocrite!"

By now, I was sobbing. I sunk to the floor, heaving breaths.

The other end was silence. Even at that moment, I regretted what I said. But I was just so hurt. By my aunt, of all people.

I had only been trying to protect her. I hadn't told her about Clarissa. Maybe I should've, but I didn't. Because I thought it would hurt her. I thought she was still in love with Henry Dashwood. But obviously, she wasn't, because she was criticizing me for being with Luke. Criticizing me, like so many others were.

I lowered the cordless phone, clutching it to my chest. I was leaning against the bathroom wall, where I'd gone to talk to Aunt Libby. I could only imagine what the Winthrops would've thought of me, had I stayed out in the kitchen.

Then, I heard a faint sound.

"Meghan?"

Slowly, I raised the phone back to my ear. I gave Aunt Libby no response, other than my spasmatic breathing.

"Meghan, I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes.

"I'm in love with him, Aunt Libby."

A pause.

"What?"

"Luke. I'm in love with him."

Again, Aunt Libby was quiet. But after a few seconds, she spoke.

"Okay."

And I sat there, holding the phone up as I wiped my eyes, just sat there sniveling until Aunt Libby said:

"Meghan?"

"Yeah?"

"What is it I'm keeping from you?"

**Meghan was wide awake** that night, as she lay in bed a few feet from mopey Faye. So, so much had happened.

She'd had tea with Daphne's grandma, played chess with her _father_, and earned a universal welcome into their home.

She'd bonded with Luke like never before.

And finally, she'd gotten the truth, the FULL truth, from Aunt Libby.

This time, it was different, though. This time, what Libby had told her hardly concerned Daphne. It concerned Meghan, and her mother.

Meghan had asked her aunt about what was written in her records. Libby's answer had been a deep, resigned breath, similar to the ones she'd taken before, any time she decided to come clean about something. And then...

"Meghan, do you know what 'dual-citizenship' means?"

"Something about fencing?"

"Uh...no. It sorta means...that you're a citizen of two countries."

Meghan had been quiet for a moment, very confused.

"Um...okay. What countries?"

"Well, you're a citizen of the United States, because both of your parents were American. But there's another country."

"Where? Canada?"

"No. Look out the window."

She did.

"Uh...I'm a citizen of old Johnson's house?"

"Who's...never mind. No, Meghan, I mean England."

Meghan was practically speechless.

"I...what...how...that doesn't make sense!"

"I know, but it will. See, there are some things about your mother that you don't know, because they are things that your mother has felt too pained to discuss with you. But there's no getting around them now, and I think it's time you knew."

Meghan waited.

"A long, long, _long_ time ago, back in the 80's, when I was a free-spirited nomadic gypsy traveling the world, my brother (your father), was already in the army, and was stationed in the country you're residing in now. Meanwhile, your mother was attending a _fashion_ school there, not too far away. And don't ask me how, but somewhere along the line, they met each other."

Libby paused.

"They began spending time together whenever both of them had the chance, and they fell deeper and deeper in love. Your dad would write me letters about this wonderful woman he'd found, that her name was Catherine, that she was sweet and beautiful and talented. And then after about, oh, a year or so, I received a letter that your mom and dad had married, and were already expecting their first (and only) child. I was sad that I hadn't seen their wedding, but made a promise to myself that I'd invite them to mine, if I ever had one. And it was right around this time that I drifted into a little country called Morocco."

Meghan kept staring at old Johnson's house.

"Consequently, within a month of that, I was in England. Your father had no knowledge of my being there, but I wanted to get in touch with him, so that I could meet your mother - and you, though you weren't even close to being born yet. Unfortunately, that got pushed _way_ off to the side, due to the chaos that later ensued. And so I ended up not only leaving Henry, but the three of you as well."

She sat listening on the edge of the bathtub.

"I went into hiding, bunking with a friend in New York, who eventually moved to a condo in Florida, leaving me in the apartment we live in now. By then, Daphne was born, and I had a job that paid for the rent and the food and the sitter. Meanwhile, your mother and father remained where they were, and it was there that you were born - which earned you the dual-citizenship."

Meghan was now so shocked, she thought she'd stare a hole right through the window. An increasing uneasiness was taking over.

"You were all there for four years - it's amazing that you don't remember anything. You lived in a little white cottage - your parents even called it the "Meghan House", because you loved it there. Your grandparents Shore bought the house for your mother, and had been paying her tuition at the fashion school, though she'd taken a break from it to take care of you. She'd make dozens of clothing sketches, your father said, and she'd had every intention of going back to school. The three of you were all very happy - until one night. The night your mother came home to find that little white cottage engulfed in flames, along with two other houses. Everything she and your father owned, photographs, heirlooms, and all of those sketches, burned in that fire. Everything was lost."

Meghan's throat grew tight. She felt the tears coming again.

"They didn't know what to do. After that tragedy, your mother was devastated. She needed to be near her family. So, as much as they loved England, your mother and father decided to go back to New York. Your father requested that he be stationed there, and his wish was granted. And that's when you came here, and you met your aunt and cousin for the first time. And me and my brother were finally reunited. It was incredible."

There was a pause as Libby recalled this.

"And your father loved his niece from the minute he saw her. He'd spoil my daughter almost as much as he spoiled you. They got that house outside of Chinatown together, and things were pretty good. But your mother never got around to going back to fashion school, in any country, because something about her sketches burning had seemed to kill her ambitions. Besides, she really wanted to stop depending on your grandparents for everything. She felt like a leech, and she took the fire as a sign that she needed to break away from them money wise."

_So that's why she's that way..._

"But I thought that was a shame. I had given up on what I loved, and I didn't want to watch her do the same. So, when I went back to singing, at the same time I started making payments...on a house, much like that cottage, in England. I knew me and Daphne would have to crunch, but I got an excellent deal on it, and figured I'd have it paid off in about ten years or so. Then I would tell your mom about it, and hopefully the three of you would all move back and she'd go back to her old fashion school. I did it to make up for all the time I wasn't there. My timing was right on the payments, it turned out, and legally, that house now belongs to me. I decided to let Daphne in on this shortly after her birthday - that was her 'blood test', remember? She was mad at me, though, for keeping this from her aunt, and especially for keeping it all from her cousin."

Meghan closed her eyes.

"Why _did_ you keep it from us? And why did Mom keep all of this from me?"

"The same reason goes for both - your mom was so devastated. That fire, and later your father's disappearance, made her want nothing to do with England. She didn't remember those good times, because the loss was too painful. And she didn't want you to know your birthplace, because she was afraid you'd choose full English citizenship...which you can actually do, without naturalization or anything, because of your status. That's why she was scared to let you go on this thing, too."

Despite the fact that Meghan didn't think she could handle any more shock, she just had to ask one more question.

"What about Daphne?" she breathed. "Why have you never told Mom about Daphne?"

Libby sighed.

"I've been asking myself that, along with many other questions, for years, Meghan. I didn't tell anyone at first who Daphne's father was - not even that friend of mine, who thankfully understood how much it hurt me to talk about it. But after she was born, I did realize that I had to tell my dad - your Grandpa Reynolds - why I had a child all of a sudden. But to your mother and her parents, I lied, and told them her father had just run off somewhere. I will always regret that. I guess I was trying to erase Henry as much as I possibly could. It didn't work very well."

Meghan pondered this, and started to realize there was someone left that Aunt Libby hadn't mentioned.

"Dad." she stammered. "Did he know?"

Aunt Libby's immediate surge of silence gave her the answer. But not completely.

"I didn't think he did." Libby replied.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I didn't have to tell him anything, because he already knew. Remember how I told you that I never got around to contacting your dad while I was in England? Well, despite that, he still knew I was there, because he'd seen me - with Henry."

Meghan's breath caught in her throat.

"When you three moved back to the States, he told me what he'd seen. But he never said anything to your mom."

The brown-haired girl, who was about to go into a coma with all the shock she was being continually presented with, was now resigned. She took a deep breath.

"I want you to tell her." she shakily murmured into the phone.

"What?"

"I want you to tell her, Auntie Libbs. Tell Mom. About Daphne, about that house, about the fact that I know about it all. No more secrets, Aunt Libby. Please."

There was no reply. But Meghan could still hear the exhausted blonde woman breathing hard, still holding the phone to her ear on the other side of the Earth. Meghan squeezed her eyes shut, a tear rolling down her face.

She did the same thing now, laying in bed, in that dark room.

_Please. _

**Not sure I liked how that one turned out, but I had to tell the story somehow...this is the best I could think of. Kinda afraid I made Libby a rambler in this one, but oh well.**

**And don't get after me for getting something wrong about the dual-citizenship thingy. I don't know anything about immigration. I just know that there is such a thing as dual-citizenship - I don't know exactly _how_ it works. I'm just winging it. Sorry. **

**As payment for your wait, I give you all free Coco Puffs. And some orange chicken. But not together. Ew.**

**-rf-**


	42. The Miserable Monday

**I am such an idiot. Please don't hurt me. Ack. (holds out chapters with shaking hand)**

**molly: Thanks for your review - actually, when I read it, this chapter had already been written. Now I'm posting, finally. As for your other question...my friend, you have very good insight...**

**Christine Writer: Thanks to you as well, though you are probably ready to kill me. Hope you find these next two interesting as well!**

**Call Me Mimzy: Hope your chocolatey cereal was yummy. Have as much as you want! And while you do that, I'll climb out of the abyss that seems to keep sucking me in. XD**

**Mrs.Scott323: Yeah, Ch. 41 was a little confusing lol, wish I'd written it better. I don't blame you for thinking M&D were twins - it really had all the signs, come to think of it. I did consider that idea, but...I couldn't make Libby that much of a liar. But you will like what is coming, trust me. :)**

When Clarissa dragged herself out of bed at 6am Monday morning, she found that her mood was most certainly not great. Not that it ever really was great, but today its not greatness was especially noticeable.

There had been an invasion. And no one around her had resisted that invasion. In fact, they had quite welcomed it.

Meghan Reynolds was scum. Trash. Rubbish. And yet she'd been allowed _into this house_, and had drunken tea with Grandmumsie.

Not to mention she was in the arms of the man that...oh! The nerve of her!

Now, Clarissa had decided, it was time to release the hounds. Fire the canons. Blast her to smithereens - but how? That was what had yet to be figured out. But Clarissa had full confidence in her evil abilities - as did everyone else.

"You're not to do a thing against Meghan." Grandmumsie had said.

"I would suggest that you not bother her." Henry had said, simply.

And when she'd told her grandfather of the incident, he'd briefly replied:

"Now you just leave things up to me, my angel."

And then he'd patted her head and sauntered off, leaving Clarissa with her mother, whose only response was, "Now tell me what you think, dear. Should we use peach organza for the tables, or mauve?" as she flipped through her thousandth wedding catalog.

But today, she would form her plot. And she would make sure, this time, that it was foolproof.

She sat down with her cup of tea, to read her newest issue of _What Is Hot_ _This Very Week _magazine.

And she was horrified to discover that the face of the blasted American heathen herself was plastered across the cover - along with that of her beloved Lucas, and some stunned-looking busboy. _Wild Couple Spotted at Restaurant_ was the headline.

Angered even more, Clarissa flipped to the article.

_"Late last Saturday afternoon, one of our photographers snapped a few shots of London's hottest new couple, dining at a little-known garden bistro called 'The Crystal Spoon'. Lucas Brenshire, heir to the Brenshire fortunate and next in line to his father's seat in Parliament, was said to be having steak, while his American export girlfriend, Meghan Reynolds, dined on a sandwich. (It was not disclosed exactly what type of sandwich the girl was eating, nor whether Lucas's steak was rare or well-done.)_

_When asked to comment, those who were there at the time had this to say:_

_"I think they look very lovely together. I was that girl, before my divorce. That ---- left me without a pence..." Kitty Jenkins, 56_

_"What do I thinka who? Hey, gimme somore scotch..." Billy, age unknown_

_"Can't you just let the girl alone?!" Laurence Winthrop, 43, restaurant owner_

_"What I don't understand, sir, is why anyone would want to eat at this lard factory anyhow. I'm only eating here because my wife spent most all of my money on frilly hats with feathers all over 'em. I despise this food. If you even want to call it that. Food, I mean. Hrumph." Edward Johnson, 74, regular customer _

_The unidentified busboy, also seen in the pictures, had nothing to say on the matter._

_The eating establishment, said to be anticipating an inspection this coming Thursday, has kept up with business as usual, seemingly oblivious to its newfound publicity. _

_As for the couple, who quickly ran off in haste after being photographed - they have not been seen since. One photographer was quick to claim that he'd seen them conversing in a park shortly after. However, the man was beaten in appearance and seemed to be out of his right mind, and his camera was destroyed - the claim was dismissed._

Oh, the nerve! The audacity! Oh, how Clarissa hated her!

But then, a wry smile began to creep across her face. Her plot. It was forming. She daintily picked up the phone.

"Yes, Mirabelle, dear? This is Clarissa. Does your wretched brother still have those _pets_ of his? Um-hm. Good. Then I would like to ask a favor of him..."

As Clarissa spoke, she smiled devilishly, twirling a shiny silver heart in her hands. This time, she would win.

**Certainly, Meghan didn't feel like** **going to school on Monday.** But she did, anyhow.

She looked the same. Same white polo shirt and plaid skirt. Same navy blazer with the stars and stripes patch. Same white knee-highs with clompy shoes. Same brown wavy hair that was hard to tame.

But nothing else seemed the same. Meghan's precious locket did not hang from her neck - rather, a blue crystalline butterfly hung in its place. It was comforting, but still different.

Also, no one around her was the same. For the most part, Faye's friends seemed to loathe her, and Faye seemed to be suffering from some kind of strange depression. But to most everyone else in that school and to a great many outside of it, Meghan was some kind of star, or hero. Everywhere she went, she'd hear shouts and whistles here and there. She'd receive grins of admiration and surprise from people who before never knew she'd existed.

And above all, she definitely did not _feel_ the same. Meghan felt an uneasiness that she believed would never wear off, due to all that had been revealed to her. Her mother and father seemed like different people. Even Meghan herself felt as if her own identity had been changed.

It wasn't supposed to be _her._ She was supposed to be the normal one. Daphne was the one whose birth had come straight from a fairy tale - why was _Meghan_ the one freeing lost souls from the dungeon? And why was her mother's soul lost in there with them?

Maybe it was just better to except it now - nothing would ever be normal for this family anymore. If things ever really were...

"Meghan."

She snapped up from her gourmet lunch to face her inquisitor, Emily, who had long since overtaken Faye as the major talker and leader of the group.

"Yeah?"

"Meghan, there is a serious matter that needs discussing." Emily said, in a very businesslike tone.

"Okay."

"It seems to us that things have changed dramatically ever since you came along - and unfortunately, a great deal of that change hasn't been for the better."

Samantha and Bridget nodded their heads solemnly, in support of Emily's claim.

"For one, you've attracted a great deal of unwanted attention to this table, from some very unsavory people."

_Do NOT say her name. It sickens me so..._

"Secondly, after much observation by myself and my friends here, it seems that you actually seem to be in _support_ of these unsavory people, due to the fact that you are unwilling to do _anything_ against them. We've observed that you may even have deeper motives, such as trying to charm the rich in order to get your, as you might say, 'piece of the pie'."

Meghan opened her mouth to protest, but Emily quickly held up her hand.

"Lastly, our friend Faye's behavior has changed _dramatically_ over the past few weeks. She indeed has become very distempered, and we believe that it is highly likely that you play a part in this..._change_."

She paused for a moment, before moving on.

"All of this, Meghan, has been causing us a great deal of discouragement, discomfort, disagreement, and disappointment. Not to mention a fair amount of disgust. Therefore, after much consideration, we have decided that it may be best for you to...become separate. From us."

Meghan stared for a minute, speechless.

"...What?"

"We would, from this moment forward, like you avoid being in our presence as much as possible. We would like you to ignore us as we pass in the hallway. We would like you to refrain from speaking to us whenever we shall meet. And...we would like for you to leave this table."

Meghan was awestruck. How on earth did they get this impression of her? How had things gotten so ruined?

"But...I..."

"We hope that by making these changes, we will be preventing a huge amount of torment and aggravation, both of which we have constantly been receiving from certain people. By cutting off what seems to be the source of our troubles, we hope that these troubles may lessen, if not disappear altogether. With admittedly deep regret, I must inform you that this decision is unanimous."

A huge lump was gathering in Meghan's throat as she tried to process what was happening.

"Even you, Faye?" she murmured, looking to the blonde next to her. Faye only looked away.

With that, Meghan stood up, lifting her tray up with her.

"Alright, then." she said softly to the three associates. She then turned, walked to an empty table, and sat.

Looking to her right, Meghan saw the pretty courtyard fountain, which was nearer to her than it had been before. She watched the water trickle down as she ate, wishing all the while that her REAL best friend was here with her.

_Daphne, why did I ever leave you?_

**Alastair was very disgruntled.** He had just been informed that the Winthrop girl had been spared from expulsion.

_Oh, why can't that horrid old woman just hurry up and die?!_

He knew, just _knew_, that this "Meghan Reynolds" had to be of some relation to the woman he'd shooed away so many years ago. It was simply too coincidental, with the girl's age and persona, for it to be otherwise.

He'd asked the girl of her mother's name. This...Catherine? Ha! To be sure! Alastair could smell a lie from a kilometer away.

Which is why his newest ploy came very easily to him.

Not a lot of trouble had to be taken to obtain the girl's telephone number. Especially when you are close, personal friends with Jasperstone Academy's headmaster. The only hard part, actually, was trying to make an actual phone call to the US. He loathed the US, among other countries, and therefore usually left foreign phone calls up to Henry, or to one of his associates. Eventually, however...

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

"Hello?"

"Yes, hello indeed."

A pause.

"...Okay. Who is this?"

"I think you know very well who this is, my dear woman."

Another pause.

"I'm afraid I...don't follow."

"Now, there's really no need to play games, is there?"

"What are you talking about? You sound British. Are you calling about Meghan?"

"I've met the girl. She's very dull. Truthfully, woman, I'm much more interested in talking about you."

"Okay, I don't know what kind of joke you're trying to play here, you b- "

"Oh, there is no trickery here, I assure you. Just an innocent phone call from an old, dear friend. You do remember me, don't you, Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth? Oh, no, I'm not -"

"I'm sure you must remember me. I'm Alastair Payne, Henry's advisor."

"Who? Listen, buddy, I suggest you - "

"Who's on the phone?" Libby asked, walking into the kitchen.

Catherine put her hand over the receiver.

"Some British idiot calling for 'Elizabeth'." she said, uttering the last word in a snotty, butlerish tone. "Shh. I'm about to tell him off."

Libby's heartbeat sped up a bit. "Catherine, maybe you should let me - "

"Shh!" Catherine repeated. "No, I do NOT know you, you sicko, nobody here knows anybody named _Alastair._"

Libby drew in a sharp breath.

"Your act is useless, Elizabeth. You may as well drop it."

"Sir, my name is CATHERINE, there is no ELIZABETH here, I can name you off all of the people in this household, and not one person here goes by ELIZABETH, and I swear, if you even go NEAR my daughter - "

"Oh, so your _daughter's _name is Elizabeth."

"NO, my _daughter's_ name is Meghan, my niece's name is Daphne, and my sister-in-law's name is _not _Elizabeth, it's -"

Catherine heard a noise, before hearing the line go completely silent. She saw the cord move. She looked in its direction.

There stood Libby, who had just disconnected the phone. Her face was pale, and she was breathing heavily.

Catherine stared for a moment. Then she spoke.

"Libby." she said. "What's going on?"


	43. The Plan

**I strolled out of the academy after school** Thursday afternoon, in my usual dazed state. This time, however, I was accompanied by no one. I knew that what those girls were doing was ridiculous - I mean, I _lived_ with Faye. She had no choice but to come in contact with me.

Apparently, though, such contact was going to be delayed this afternoon, as Faye was clinging to the rest of her group, who stayed a considerable distance behind me as I neared the schoolyard gates. It had been like this all week, ever since those girls barred me from their table.

Fortunately, though, there was at least _one _person who deemed me well enough to be in their presence.

"Hello, Meghan." Luke said as he sauntered over to me from where he'd been waiting outside. "Fine day at school?"

"No." I replied. "But, what else is new. Tell me about your day. Maybe it was better than mine."

"My day?" he chuckled. "Could've been better. Could've been worse. But it's not over yet."

I eyed him with suspicion.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing." he said. "Just that my day isn't over yet."

But I could see little bits of a smirk that was just _itching_ to break out across his face.

"I think there's more to it than that, isn't there, Luke?" Man, just once can someone just _tell_ me something, instead of constantly throwing surprises in my face?

"Alright, yes, there is. As a matter of fact, I'm going to visit some friends. And you'll be accompanying me."

"Oh, will I?" I slyly retorted. "You can't make me, you know." Really, I thought I'd pretty much had my fill of people who are 'friends' with...

"I know. But I don't think I _have_ to make you. You see, these friends I'll be visiting are the Dashwoods."

This got my attention. I looked at him.

"Clarissa not included." he added with a wink.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Just what are you up to, Lucas Brenshire?"

"Oh, nothing." he airily replied, starting off down the road with his nose in the air.

"Don't you walk off! Come back here and tell me what's -"

"I'll be at the Winthrops' in an hour." he stated simply with a grin, before running off like one of those mischeivious little English schoolboys you often see in movies, with those scrawny bare legs and black knickers.

And the schoolboy kept his word. Approximately sixty minutes later, I heard the sound of a motor running outside from my seat at the dining room table. I ran to the door, still chewing food, to find Luke standing there with an excited-slash-anxious look on his face.

"What are you doing still eating?!" he exclaimed. "Come on, they're expecting us!"

"I...expecting...what?" I stammered, while at that very moment being grabbed by the arm and dragged out by a viscount's son who seemed extremely impatient.

"Luke!" I protested. "Wait! Luke, my bag!"

He dragged me to his bike, which was still running, and nodded.

"Stay there." He sprinted back up to the door and into the house, and seconds later emerged with my bag, which had been hanging in the entryway. Thrusting the bag into my arms, he sat down on the bike and handed me a helmet.

"Let's go."

We sped off before I'd even been able to set the helmet on my head. And I found it extremely hard to hold onto Luke's shoulder while trying to buckle a helmet strap at the same time.

"Luke!" I shouted, laughing in spite of myself. "Have you gone insane?!"

"No." he answered over the noise. "Just mad."

"That's the SAME THING!"

He didn't seem to pay that any attention.

And being that I was seated precariously on a MOVING VEHICLE, I had no way of stopping him from speeding us both past the cottages, past the academy, and right through the iron gates that guarded Dashwood Manor.

Luke finally killed the motor as he parked his bike.

"Luke." I hissed as we both dismounted. "_Please_ tell me what's going on!"

"What are you so worried about?" he asked with a grin as he unstrapped his helmet, before taking the liberty of unstrapping mine. "We're only going to visit your uncle."

"Shush!" I urged him. "And he's not my - "

"Good afternoon, Master Luke." came an uppercrust voice from the direction of the mansion's entrance.

I jumped.

"And to you, Miss Meghan." Ganes added.

"Hi."

"Good afternoon, sir." Luke responded, seeming quite sure of himself.

"Pleasure to see you again."

"And you as well."

I smiled. My boyfriend was Charles Dickens.

"Shall we go in, my love?"

Soon, I found myself in that sitting room once again. And there sat the lovely Lady Dashwood, reading another book. She immediately looked up, however, and beamed as we walked in.

"Ah, Meghan and Lucas. So glad you're here. Come, it's time for tea."

As the woman walked breezily into the hallway, I still stood there, my arm hooked with Luke's. I looked up at him.

"Am I missing something, here?" I asked him.

"Yes." he said decisively. "You're missing tea. And so am I."

I rolled my eyes and let him lead me toward the little room where Jocelyn sat.

_Okay, why's everyone in such a hurry?_

There were four chairs around this tea table. Luke quickly shuffled over to the chair across from Jocelyn, pulling it out. He gestured at it, implying that I was to sit there. When I did so, he then slid into the seat next to her, so that he was between the two of us.

I sat there, confused, nibbling on a cookie I'd just plucked from the little multi-layer tea tray that sat in the middle, wondering where all the sense in this world had gone to.

I couldn't even _see_ Lady Dashwood. The tea tray was in the way.

Tentatively, I moved my head to the side and peered around it. I saw Jocelyn glance at a guilded clock with Roman numerals. Turning back, she smiled at me. But she said nothing.

Also, Luke said nothing.

_Oh, hello, Anxiety. Welcome back._

This ever-so-lovely silence enabled me to hear the distant footsteps down the hall as they got louder and louder.

Enter the one person who might've been just as confused as I was.

_And hello to you, again._

**Henry, of course, **was taken aback, and not for the first time.

_Mother._

But he didn't say what he was thinking. Instead, he attempted to hide his surprise with a polite smile - it didn't work too well.

"Luke. Meghan. What a clever surprise." He would be having a talk with his mother later, about alerting him when they were having company. He knew what she'd say:

"Why does it matter so much to you that you know ahead of time, when Meghan is coming for a visit?"

Well, the answer to that was rather complicated. But the fact was that it mattered, plain and simple. Being around this girl required some sort of mental preparation, be it miniscule, thrown together or otherwise, and Henry was sure that by facing this fact, things would be better and easier for everyone involved.

Or for him, at least.

"Henry, dear, come. Sit. It's time for tea with Mum."

Yes. No use fighting that. He nodded.

"Right. Of course."

Meghan, meanwhile, watched Henry as he was forced to take the only remaining seat - between her and his mother. Conveniently. Meghan was beginning to catch on. She looked at Luke...

Who was grinning to himself behind the tea tray. For two reasons, actually. One, his plan seemed to be working so far. Two, for once, someone older than he was had not called him "Lucas". But then, as he caught sight of Meghan's worried, anxious face, his expression changed. Immediately, he gazed at her, eyes brimming with compassion. He reached under the table, found her hand, and squeezed it.

_It's going to be alright. Trust me._

Meghan smiled a little.

"How is your day going, Mother?"

"Very well, thank you, dear. In fact, I was just informed by Lucas of something quite wonderful. Would you care to repeat it for us, Lucas?"

Still holding Meghan's hand, Luke turned to Lady Dashwood.

"Of course. I felt that it was simply undeniable that I must immediately come to have tea with the both of you, to discuss - "

He coughed, and noticed that Meghan's eyes were positively fixated on him...

"Sorry. To discuss my sister's New Year's ball. She plans to hold it on the 3rd of January. She wants you all to attend."

Smiling, Jocelyn turned back to Henry. "See? Isn't that lovely? Of course, I would've thought as much anyhow, being that she's such a sweet girl..."

_Marianne? We're here to talk about Marianne? That's all?_

"Yes, I have to say, I've always found her to be a decent young woman."

"She's rather fond of you both as well. The whole...lot of you, actually."

_Although that's sort of a lie, because no one really likes your future stepdaughter..._

"Yes, very good, glad to hear it." Henry said.

Meghan smiled. This might be pretty easy after all.

"There's just one thing, though, that I thought I might discuss with you. And it might be rather sore for someone..." Luke stated, hesitantly.

"What might that be?" Jocelyn asked, keeping up with what seemed to be her job, of helping Luke to keep the converstaion moving.

"Well, you see, although the ball itself is a long way off, I thought this might be as good a time as ever to talk to you about...Clarissa."

Jocelyn cocked her head, while Henry studied Luke as best he could through the tiny openings in the tea tray.

"Yes...what about her?"

"Well, the thing is...she might be expecting me to escort her to the ball. But I don't plan to do that. I plan to take Meghan."

Meghan practically choked on her cookie.

"Me?!"

However, she seemed to be the the only one who was surprised. Luke quickly turned his head.

"Yes, you! Who did you think I'd be taking?"

"I dunno..."

He turned back to Jocelyn.

"Thus, this is the dilemma I am faced with..."

"Dilemma? What dilemma? Why, it's more than obvious that you should take Meghan. You love her, don't you?"

This made Luke's demeanor change almost instantly, as he immediately fell into a state of bashful nervousness.

"Well, I...I mean...er...I do love her, yes." he said, looking down and laughing nervously as he turned bright red.

And Meghan's skin quickly became the same color. Tears began to well up a little bit in the speechless girl's eyes. She looked at the boy, glowing with the warmth of what he'd just said.

"Luke..."

They caught each other's gaze for a moment, and he smiled at her. She smiled shyly back before they both immediately bent their heads again, embarrassed and overjoyed at the same time.

If not for the annoying centerpiece being in the way, Luke would've seen Henry flash him a look of approval. But the man _said_ nothing, due to the fact that he was feeling a bit uncomfortable himself.

Thank goodness for someone else.

"Then there's really no problem, is there, Lucas?"

He lifted his head.

"No, I suppose there isn't."

"Good then. And I assume you'll be taking her to the Winter Ball as well."

"Winter Ball?"

"Why, yes! The annual Winter Ball, held jointly by Jasperstone Academy and the Morris School for Boys. Surely you must know about it!"

_Winter Ball?_

"Oh...oh! Yes! The Winter Ball! I'd completely forgotten about that..."

"Dear, you must be simply frazzled, and I think I know why." Jocelyn winked at Meghan around the tray. "In any case, however, you two would best start planning. Which reminds me...come, Luke, I've something to show you. Henry, why don't you and Meghan go and chat in the sitting room?"

"But, Mother, what about tea?"

"Oh, enough of tea...Lucas, this way!" Having said this, Jocelyn flew off again.

Seeing that he had no choice but to follow, Luke gave Meghan one last extra squeeze, along with a reassuring look, before parting with her and dashing out of the tea room.

Meghan Reynolds and Henry Dashwood had now both been left to their own accord. They responded to this by sitting silently for a few moments, befuddled.

"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" Henry finally said.

"Hmm? Oh...yes. It's not raining."

Another long pause.

"I...hope I'm not keeping you from work or anything..."

"Oh, no. No bother about work. I've been working myself sick lately, and yet have been finding it very hard to concentrate...shall we go into the sitting room?"

"Okay."

Once there, Henry suddenly found himself in possession of enough nerve to ask Meghan the following question:

"Tell me, Meghan, do you think you might fancy Lucas? I mean, the way he fancies you..."

Meghan looked at Henry with a smile.

"Yes. I fancy him very much."

He smiled a little himself, staring off into space for a second.

"And you plan to tell him that, don't you?"

"Of course!"

Meghan answered this immediately, and her answer was the truth. But she found herself thinking a little deeper about what Henry had said.

_You told him you loved him, didn't you, Aunt Libby? Because I know that you DID love him..._

"Good, then." he conceded. "Are you up to another game of chess?"

Meghan nodded. Yes, she was up to a game of chess. And for the moment, there wasn't anything else, really, that she'd rather do.

**And with that, rhapsodyflower, anticipating flames, hides behind the closest person she can find. This person is Faye, who is morbidly depressed.**

**Faye: Shove off, wanker! It's YOUR fault I'm in this misery, because YOU wrote it. And if I weren't so morbidly depressed, I'd join everyone else in roasting you with the criticism you deserve!!!**

**rhapsodyflower: It's not MY fault you were nosy. Nor is it my fault that you were suspended. That blame belongs to you, your vengeful friends, and indirectly, Clarissa. And I think you're forgetting that I'M the one who created you. I could drop an anvil on your whiney head, if I wanted to. Or I could have you attacked by pigeons, or make you a guy, or - **

**Faye, unmoved, walks off, leaving rhapsodyflower alone and vulnerable.**

**rhapsodyflower: Fine. Whatever. Okay, here's the deal. To make this up to you, anyone who reads this is encouraged to look in my profile for a SPECIAL OFFER. Also, be here Saturday for the next two chaps. 45's already written, and 46 is well on its way. In the meantime, I'll just be sitting here...scared...really scared...**

**-rf-**


	44. The Threat

**See? Sometimes I really do come through. It is Saturday night, and here are two more chapters.**

**Typo: In my last note, I said 45 was done and 46 was started. Actually, 44 was done and 45 was started. Glad that's cleared up.**

**Mari324: Oooooh so happy you love it. Your wait is over:)**

**Green Animelover: Fantastic as...USUAL?! YAY! I'm so happy that I am able to deliver fantastic stuff. Thanx, you rock. And anime's pretty cool too.**

**Mrs.Scott: I can always count on your great reviews. Thanks for not hating me. :) And if you hate Alistair now, wait until you're done with 44. You will despise him. And I'm glad you want to be surprised, that makes me very happy. :D**

While Luke was off somewhere in the mansion with Lady Dashwood, being shown whatever it was he was being shown, I was creaming Henry in chess. Again.

It's funny, I actually learned how to play chess when me and Daphs were signing up for clubs at school, and we dared each other to join some weird/dorky ones that we wouldn't even think of joining otherwise. I dared her to join the Folk Dancing Club - which she ended up dropping after just a few sessions, because the Swedish exchange student was hitting on her.

I, meanwhile, was dared to join the Chess Club. And I actually ended up enjoying it...well, once I learned how to play. This guy named Merv taught me - and no, he wasn't at all like the word that rhymes with his name. He was far too busy with not only chess games, but also Darklord Wizard card games, Alien Invader computer showdowns, and designing an artificial spleen to care about girls.

Anyway. To make a long story short, I ended up loving chess, Daphne joined the Amateur Radio Club to replace folk dancing, and we both joined the Asian/Pacific Islander Club for no particular reason. By the way, best club EVER!

And all that time in Chess Club has made me the person I am today: one who can take down Henry Dashwood in a game that he should be able to play with his eyes closed.

Not to mention I was striking a HUGE blow against stereotypes. Haza, as Merv would say.

Also, while we were playing, me and Daphne's dad had this really nice conversation.

"So. Meghan. If I may ask, what is it you're planning to do when you're finished at Jasperstone?"

I knew the answer.

"I'm going back to New York, to finish my senior year and graduate from high school."

"And after that?"

This answer was a little more foggy.

"Um...well, actually I'm not really sure. Maybe go to the community college..."

I could tell by his face that he found this quite dull.

"Really. Doesn't sound quite adventurous enough."

I looked at him for a second.

"Adventurous?"

"...Yes...what I mean is, you're entirely unlike the kind of girl who wishes to settle for something as dismally conventional as a 'community college'. Well, seeing as you came all the way to England, that is. Before even finishing secondary school..."

This I pondered as I moved my chess piece, close to winning yet again.

"What is it you're hoping to become?"

I looked up.

"Well, I haven't really thought all that much about it..."

Henry's face went almost aghast.

"My word, haven't thought about it? Why, you're about to graduate! That's what you told me, isn't it?"

I knew there was a point there, and I felt a little ashamed. But I really _hadn't _thought about it...

"Well, nothing has really interested me. My cousin wants to be a psychologist, but that doesn't really appeal to me..."

"Good then. You know what you _don't _want to do. But what are the things you _do_ want?"

My mind was blank. Just, blank. A feeling I wanted to avoid.

"Uh."

"Wait a minute. I'm only presenting this as a possibility, an option, but...do you think you might ever consider returning here? To London?"

This made me think. But I didn't have to think much, really.

"Well...yeah! I mean yes, I'd love to, but - "

"But what?"

"I can't afford it."

This made him look down again, back at the game board, for he apparently didn't have a response for that one. He rubbed the back of his neck.

Then it hit me.

Of course he thinks I'll be back here. Because he thinks I'm Daphne.

Why had I only just now registered that in my mind? I mean, it's only obvious that's the reason he's prodding me to come back to London. After all, Daphne's the one who belongs here. Not me. No.

Wait a minute.

How sweet! He wanted Daphne to be here with him! I mean, he wanted me. Me, Daphne. I mean, Meghan. Oh geez.

I needed to tell him...

"Henry, you simply _must_ look over these files, they're completely out of order. What have you prepared for the address next week? Honestly..." came a fast approaching voice. A voice I didn't like.

The owner of that voice stopped dead in his tracks a few feet away from us, when he looked up from the paperwork he was carrying long enough to see exactly what the man whose shirttails he clung to was doing.

"Hello, Alistair. Nice of you to join us." my chess opponent politely mumbled, not even taking his eyes from the game. "You're just in time to see me finally win another game of chess against Meghan here."

I made my eyes move to the board. It was true. I had been close to winning, but I'd stopped paying attention. He'd found a niche, and overtaken me.

"Oh...yay...for you..." I squeaked. It was all I could think of to say, being that two eyes were once again drilling holes into my body with their piercing, menacing stare.

**Henry was quite proud of himself.**

"Yes. I was rusty, from having not played in so long, and you used that to your advantage. But it's coming back to me now." he boasted. "Alistair, come have a look."

The Shakespearian clone didn't budge.

"I'd...rather not, thank you. And as amusing as that truly is, shouldn't you be getting back to your work?"

Henry was already setting up the chess pieces for another round.

"The address is on my desk for you to proofread. I'm occupied at the moment."

Meghan was trying her best not to smile at what he was doing. Alistair, on the other hand, seemed to have lost all circulation to his face, because it was going increasingly pale.

More footsteps were heard, and Meghan looked up to see Jocelyn and Luke as they entered the room. She wondered what they'd been talking about that had kept him gone so long.

"I'll be talking with you more about that later." Jocelyn told the teenager who followed her out. "Until then - oh. Hello, Alistair."

"Good afternoon, Jocelyn." the man replied. "Lucas." he added, with more of a grumble.

Words rang in Luke's head, as well as in Meghan's at the same time.

_"How __**dare**__ you?!"_

_"Whose plan __**was**__ it then? Yours?"_

Jocelyn looked to her son, and smiled. "I see you two have been playing chess again."

"Again?" Alistair blurted, his voice a bit low, as if what he'd just said hadn't been meant to come out, but rather to stay in his head, swirling along with all of his other fiendish thoughts. When everyone turned to look at him, he quickly gathered himself.

"I mean, again, as in, you've been playing chess all this time, and never asked me to have a go with you?" he regally inquired.

Henry looked at him, a bit confused.

"What you're _meaning_ to say is, you're actually interested in playing, but _I've_ never given you the chance?" he said, with a half smile.

Meghan was on the verge of laughing.

"Well," Alistair stammered, the picture of discomfort, "never mind that. What I _really_ mean to say, Henry, is that the clock is ticking, and the campaign is heating up. I want you to stay focused."

Henry bent over, looking for a pawn that had fallen on the floor.

"Henry?"

"Right, right, yes. The address, Alistair?"

"Yes. Right away! I'll get right on that." Alistair said quickly, before clicking out, a look of ambition on his face. Everyone found this very amusing.

Meghan looked to Jocelyn, whose face seemed to say to her, "You're really causing quite a lovely stir." She then looked to Luke, who smiled his famously warm smile, before taking residence on the claw-footed couch. Then she saw Henry straighten up, having apparently found the game piece he was looking for. He grinned a little as well, and to Meghan, looked almost sly.

"Shall we get back to our game?" he said.

She nodded.

_Yes. Our_ _game._

**We played** a few more rounds, and then we stopped. But no one left the room.

The thing is, it was really easy to sit there, still at the chess table across from Henry, just talking. With everyone. Luke was there, and I was alright.

Alistair had already been shooed from the area. Clarissa was off a-twittering with her gal pals while she shopped for flowery hats, lacey gloves, and foofy dresses. And I was here.

I know this had been Luke's plan all along. To get me around Daphne's father and grandmother, to get me comfortable. I'm grateful to him for this, for trying to help - after all, his plan seemed to be going well enough. I was enjoying myself.

But how was this helping Daphne, exactly?

It's not Luke's fault. It's mine. Because for some reason, it was easy for me to talk about anything under the sun...except Daphne. And Aunt Libby, of course.

When I thought about throwing something in that would very likely lead to the subject of my aunt and cousin, my heart would speed up, and my throat would tighten, and it would suddenly get very hot in the room.

Henry was talking a little about how he'd been in the Peace Corps. I could've certainly said, "Really. My aunt was in the Peace Corps. She liked it for the travel. And she brought her guitar with her everywhere she went." But I didn't.

They'd asked if I'd known much about England before I'd come here. I could've said, "Tons. I watch a lot of BBC America. But only when my cousin's not around, because when she watches it, it makes her sad." But instead I said, "I knew a few things."

They'd asked if I'd been to many other places. I could've said, "Not as many places as my aunt. She's been to South America, India, Morocco...". But somehow I thought it more fitting to say, "Well, New Jersey. I've been to New Jersey."

I am such a horrible, horrible person. How selfish is that? I was sitting here in an English palace, with _her_ family - and my cute boyfriend - while Daphne was probably just sitting at home, eating Chung noodles. CHUNG NOODLES.

During the course of the conversation, I noticed something. Luke, of course, seemed to be staying away from the subject of Daphne. No surprise there. But what _did_ surprise me was that Jocelyn seemed to be doing the same thing. After giving her that photograph and being about to tell her a little (or a lot) about Daphne - but being so rudely interrupted, I had figured upon her bringing Daphne up when next I visited.

But for some reason, nothing was said. Her son didn't say anything, either, but that was just by chance. Also, I'm pretty sure he was afraid to ask me _anything_ in regards to my family.

It's weird. Sometimes I think they're hinting at things. Other times, I think they could care less. Maybe my mind is just playing tricks on me.

Eventually, after much nice visiting talk, it was time for everyone to go back to their own respective, possibly dreary, realities. But though it was dreary to me that I was leaving the Dashwood residence, my reality wasn't all bad - Luke was coming with me. And staying with me, for at least a few hours.

Besides, I'd be back. If I didn't make sure of that, it was clear that Luke would.

First, though, I went to what was called the "powder room", to "freshen up". Actually, I was going in there to put on more lip gloss, because I planned on telling Luke later that I "fancied him", and the reapplication of lip gloss could possibly be integral, for the events that might follow.

Jocelyn had to show me the way, because a person could get lost in a house like hers. Once there, I glossed more than sufficiently, and put on a little more blush for good measure. Satisfied, I exited the powder room, ready to go with Luke to wherever he might take me.

But as I was walking out, I suddenly felt something grab my arm. Startled, I drew in a breath - and saw that what grabbed me turned out to be the most evil man in my world.

"I'm only going to tell you once." Alistair said, in a low, wicked, rumbling voice. He'd leaned in so that he was only inches from the side of my face, and I could feel his hot, vile breath trickling down my neck. "Stay away from Lord Dashwood."

I couldn't turn to face him. But I did manage to force up the courage to respond.

"Why?" I asked, in the firmest voice I could muster. So firm that it sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Because you do not belong here." he spat into my ear. "You are nothing. You will never be anything to him, do you hear me? Your name, your face, your blood - it all means _nothing._"

"What does my name or my blood have to do with anything?" I growled back at him, terrified as I was.

"Enough of your facade!" he raged, yanking my arm even harder. "I know who you are!"

His face was more evil, more gruesome than any human face I'd ever seen. His eyes bulged with fury, and he looked ready to strangle me and leave me to die. It was most horrifying thing I'd ever seen in my life.

But he was wrong. And my anger was stronger than my fear. I wrenched my arm away, and looked him straight in the face.

"You have no IDEA who I am!" I snarled, eyes blazing. "And you will NOT dictate to me what I can or cannot do!"

And before he could say anything more, I spun around and took off, down the hallway, around the corner, and out into the sitting room, where Luke was waiting with Lady Dashwood.

"There you are!" he declared, getting up from the couch. "I was wondering what was taking you so - "

He looked closer at me.

"Meghan." he said, now concerned. "Your face is red. What happened to you?"

I looked at him for a few seconds, disoriented, trying to get my mind back in order. I couldn't tell him the truth. Not with Jocelyn there.

"I...I think I turned the heat lamp on by mistake." I stammered.

Luke didn't seem to buy it. But he didn't press any further.

"Well, alright then. Let's go." He held up my coat for me. Still bewildered, I vaguely moved my arms up into it and fiddled the buttons.

Jocelyn, who looked suspicious herself, came up to bid us goodbye.

"Hope to see you back soon. We must prepare for the ball." she said, giving me a little hug. I nodded, and forced myself to smile. I then went out, ahead of Luke, desperate for fresh air.

When he emerged about thirty seconds later, he looked at me, his hands in his pockets.

"Meghan, Lady Dashwood says that there are no heat lamps in that powder room."

I looked back at him. "I know." I said. "That wasn't why I was red. I was red, Luke, because Alistair Payne ambushed me in the hallway."

**At seven o'clock** that night, Meghan returned to the Winthrops'. After telling Luke all of what Alistair had said and done to not only Meghan herself but to her aunt as well, he'd taken her for a nice, long walk through one of the public gardens. Though it was autumn, many of the flowers were still in bloom, and the garden's beauty together with the one by her side were helpful in calming Meghan down.

Now, as she entered the house, she felt strange. Not because of what had happened before, but because the house seemed...somber.

Emma and Laurence were both seated at the dining room table, and the light that hung over it was turned on. It was the only light on in the entire lower level of the house, save for the flashing TV in the den. Emma's hands were clasped around a cup of coffee, and Laurence had his rubbing his head as his elbows rested on the surface in front of him.

Meghan wasn't sure she wanted to know why they were doing this, or if it were her business.

"Where's Faye?" she asked simply.

"Upstairs. In her bedroom." Emma said, her voice solemn.

Meghan turned and went up to the second floor, to find the door to Faye's room closed, as it often was nowadays.

When Meghan opened the door, she found that the room was pitch black. But she heard something along the lines of a startled breath, which told her that Faye was, in fact, inside.

"Okay, That's it. I'm turning a light on in here." Meghan announced. She entered the room, almost tripping over a rather large bundle. The bundle hissed and started to move, brushing against Meghan's leg as it did so. She ignored this and stumbled her way over to her nightstand, reaching for the chain to turn on the little lamp.

The room now lit, Meghan looked over at Faye. The girl was under the covers of her messy bed, with only her head and one of her arms sticking out of them. Her blonde hair was a stringy mess all over the pillow, and school papers were strewn all over the comforter. With the light now in her face, Faye squinted, holding her free hand over her face.

"Faye." Meghan said firmly. "What's the matter with you?"

Faye moved about under the covers, sending a few papers drifting to the floor, while Meghan picked up the teddy bear she'd knocked off her nightstand while trying to find the lamp.

"I'm sorry, Faye. I know you've been upset about your suspension and all, and about Clarissa pesticating us, but this is too much. All you do is mope around. And I am sick of seeing you like this."

"Stop." Faye murmured. "Please. Let me alone."

"No, Faye! I'm trying to help you. You never used to let Clarissa bother you to the point of interfering with your life. But now, because of her, you're constantly holed up in your room, wallowing in depression. What are you so depressed about? Is it because I'm with Luke? Because ever since that first day, when I went riding with him..."

"Meghan." Faye said, slightly louder. "Stop."

"I _have_ stopped. I've stopped doing things with you. I've stopped talking to your friends. I've stopped sitting at your table. And I've left you alone, because I know you've been through stuff. But enough is enough. You refuse to tell me what's going on, and I don't know what to do. It isn't fair, Faye."

"What's going on?" Faye bellowed. "What's going on?! I'll tell you what's going on!"

Faye threw off the covers, and got out of the bed. She stood up, facing Meghan and trembling.

"They're going to close down my father's restaurant!" she sobbed. "That's what's going on!!!"

With that, Faye ran off to the bathroom in tears, leaving a stunned Meghan standing alone in the room.


	45. The Critters

**The atmosphere that Meghan now lived in** was dark enough to depress even the most enthusiastic person. And there was real proof of this, because that person had once been Faye.

Faye, however, was not the only morose one. At least, _now_ she wasn't. Apparently it was now the _entire Winthrop family_ that was suffering this dark despair. It was different, though, because they had a clear, valid reason for it.

Laurence's restaurant, The Crystal Spoon, had recieved its long-awaited inspection that very afternoon - Thursday, October XXX, 2003. This inspection, which had actually started out considerably well (the food had been branded as marvelous, the atmosphere stimulating), had quickly gone awry when the inspector had gotten the curious feeling of something crawling up his leg.

This thing was found to be a rat.

Chaos immediately ensued. The restaurant inspector leaped out of his chair, wildly shaking his leg and shouting all the while. One brave busboy - you can guess who - jumped on the man, who had by this time toppled onto the floor. Grabbing the affected leg, the busboy reached up through the ankle of the man's trousers, grabbing the rodent and throwing it by the tail.

The rat landed halfway across the room, and then made a beeline for a rather large woman sitting a short distance away. Seeing this, the woman worked to force out a scream as she clutched a cup of hot tea in her trembling hand. As the scream escaped, the busboy moved from where he was to pounce on the rat. He was successful, and was able to throw it outside.

But just as he was able to take a breath of relief, another scream was heard, this one bloodcurdling. Apparently, another rat had been found - exploring the large woman's equally large hairdo. The woman fainted, and the rest was history.

Consequently, the inspector left the restaurant piping mad, after handing a flabbergasted Laurence a notice that stated that the establishment would be closed within a month.

Almost nothing on earth could've brought a darker cloud over the Winthrop house. Laurence always had his head in his hands, rubbing it as if he had a constant migraine. Emma could barely speak without breaking into tears. Anthony, the eating machine, could now barely touch his food.

And then, of course, there was Faye.

Faye had, of course, already been depressed. She had already been wallowing in self-pity, agonizing over her suspension - and over a certain something she'd found out of Meghan's bag.

But with this new misery, the burdens Faye had been carrying were almost completely forgotten. Almost.

Now, she was far worse than she'd ever been before - and believe it or not, it was actually possible.

Meghan was living in the middle of all of this, and it was very unpleasant. There was nothing she could do or say to make it better for any of them, and she herself felt horrible. She'd attacked Faye, but she'd been wrong. Now, Faye had every right to be depressed.

And now, Meghan decided, the best place for her was _away_.

Every day, Meghan would escape, with the man whom she fancied and facied her back. More and more, too, they were finding themselves visting their dear friends at Dashwood Manor.

Jocelyn was always pleasant. She seemd to love nothing more than to sip tea with Meghan, discussing each day's happenings and giving her the occasional etiquette lesson. They grew more and more comfortable around each other, and Meghan grew to love tea cookies more each time.

And of course, there was Henry, who seemed to be doing a lot of shirking on his responsibilities, especially whenever the two teenagers came around. There were more chess games, to be sure, but Meghan and Henry no longer had to be playing chess in order to talk comfortably to each other. Meghan came to adore being around Henry - but would always try to repress that adoration. It always brought guilt with it.

Because no matter what she said, no matter what she did, no matter how great the oppurtunity was, and no matter how open or understanding Jocelyn or Henry seemed, Meghan just couldn't bring herself to tell the truth. About Daphne.

She didn't know why she did this. It may have been fear of rejection. It may have been embarassment. Or she may have just been trying to spare them the shock...for just a little while longer...

But there might have been another reason. A reason that Meghan didn't want to consider.

The thing was, when she was around Henry...she felt something. Something she hadn't felt in a long, long time. And whenever she'd leave, she'd notice a pain within herself. It was familiar, but also somewhat new, because it had long been ignored.

Luke helped a little. He worked as a mediator of some sort, an insider for both sides. He knew how to act around the Dashwoods and how they lived, because he'd always lived and acted the same way. He was always there to guide Meghan, to support her.

And he knew Meghan's side. He'd always felt that urge to break the seal, to be something other than what he was told to be. This was what Meghan was. This was _who_ she was, what she was about.

And what was _he_ about? Why, he was both things, mixed together.

Luke hoped that by bringing Meghan here again and again, she'd become close enough to be able to surrender the burden of this secret she'd been carrying. It was strange for Luke to watch Henry, who was oblivious - but yet, seemed to sense something. As for Jocelyn, it was as if she knew and didn't know at the same time. _She'd _been the one that had invited Luke over for tea that one day, and had requested that he bring Meghan along with him. He'd simply gone along with it, playing his part and believing that if nothing else, Jocelyn sought to at least become _friends_ with Meghan - and apparently, bring her son into the equation as well.

But Luke guessed that it was more than that. He knew that Lady Dashwood was a smart woman. And whatever she wanted, Luke planned to go with it.

As November neared, Jocelyn was seeming to become more and more focused on the upcoming Winter Ball, which would come close to November's end. That is, even though November was autumn. So really, it was more like an Anticipating Winter Ball. But no matter.

She, of course, was on the planning commitee. Also, however, she'd be attending the ball herself, and planned to bring the enitire 'family' with her to chaperone as well. This made Meghan nervous, to know that not only Clarissa, but Alistair as well, would be breathing down her neck for the entire dance.

But then again, Henry and Jocelyn would be there.

However, one other person would be attending the ball with the Dashwood lot. Someone that Meghan wouldn't have the "pleasure" of meeting until her fourth visit to the mansion.

That day, Meghan had ventured into another part of the building, after being told by Jocelyn to "take a look around". She'd found a rather large, extravagantly decorated bathroom, with a tub in the very middle of it, sporting a funny looking nozzle-spray-spicket-faucet contraption. Nearby was a shower, and Meghan noticed some shampoos nearby that looked to be imported from France.

_Daphne has to use Finding Nemo shampoo from Dollar Shrub._ Meghan thought.

She came out of the bathroom and wandered a little further down the hall, ever wary of Alistair, who could jump out hollering and waving numchucks any moment. Within a few steps, she spied a random ledge on the wall, which held upon it a try of chocolate truffles.

_All we've got is a bowl of old Halloween candy. From last year. And it's almost Halloween again._

Meghan kept walking. Eventually, she rounded the corner - and found herself in another sitting room. With Glynnis.

The brown-haired woman was at some kind of table/desk/thing, her nose in what looked to be a catalogue. Immediately, Meghan turned to walk out.

"You." the woman stated. "Hold it."

Meghan stopped.

"Turn around."

Meghan turned.

"Who are you?"

"Meghan Reynolds."

Glynnis was silent, her head still bent as she studied her catalogue. Then she looked up, her face rather dull and glazed over.

"Come here."

Hesitantly, Meghan approached the tabledesk. She stood in front of it, looking at Glynnis, whose eyes were on some type of flower arrangement picture on her open page. Meghan saw that what Glynnis was looking at was a wedding catalogue. The sight hurt.

The woman was silent for a few more seconds. Then she spoke.

"Are you one of Clarissa's friends?" Glynnis droned.

"No." Meghan answered. No puzzler there.

"What are you, then?" Glynnis asked, begrudgingly dragging her eyes away from the flowers to face the girl in question. "You've been here an awful lot lately."

Many things confused Meghan about this.

First, there was the fact that Glynnis seemed to have no idea who she was, despite Meghan's being pictured and talked of in many magazines and news programs as being the trophy girl of the future Lord Brenshire.

Second, she'd been here only three times before - Meghan didn't call that a lot. And she hadn't seen Glynnis around at all, so how would she know anyway?

Third, the previous things clearly indicated that Glynnis was an idiot. Why was Henry marrying an idiot?

"I'm...just...Meghan." she stammered, not knowing what else to say. It was a dumb answer. But then, Glynnis was a dumb woman.

"I suppose you are." Glynnis mumbled. her eyes went back to the picture. She grimaced at the sight, drew a huge X through it, and proceeded to turn the page.

Meghan stood there, unsure of what to do.

"You're a very strange girl, Meghan." Glynnis commented.

"I know."

She stood there some more.

"Well, go on then! I'm very busy."

Relieved, Meghan quickly left the room. And, feeling as if her intelligence quota had gone down several points during that conversation, she continued her exploration of the house.

She soon came upon a potted plant. Even _it_ seemed smarter than Glynnis.

**And now, rhapsodyflower sneaks up behind Alistair, who is seen talking to a random diplomat. She takes out her special author remote and presses the special zappy-freeze button, freezing the both of them. Mrs.Scott323 now enters the room, and gives Alistair a hard punch in the head. rhapsodyflower then sees the pudding the diplomat is about to eat and steals it. Then, she unfreezes them as she walks away.**

**"So you see, Mr. Bigshotpoliticianguywhosamasquatz - oh...oh my, I seem to have suddenly come down with a most terrible headache...you'll have to excuse me." (starts walking away) **

**"Where's...where's my pudding?"**

**Alistair winces in pain as he shuffles out."Ice! I demand some ICE!"**

**Take that, fathead.**

**-rf-**


	46. The Dress

**Next chapters please...**

**The Ditzy One: You rock. And I agree.**

**Mari324: Ha! Awesome! I actually wasn't sure about that line - I almost erased it! But now I am proud of it. Thank you.**

**Mrs.Scott323: Yes, you did very well. But I want my pudding back, lol. You are very right about both Alistair and Glynnis, get ready to hate them some more...**

Sometimes things seemed to go really, really slowly. Like at Faye's house, where everyone was swimming in devastation. Can't really blame them, I have to say. That restaurant was like, their world.

It was also their main source of income.

And it was also their reputation. Therefore, their only other source of income (that being Mrs. Winthrop's wedding planning) was being affected as well. People found it simply dreadful that this extraordinary wedding planner was both wife and business partner to the owner of a rat-infested restaurant.

So, now, everyone seemingly hated the Winthrops. And the Winthrops hated themselves. Believe it or not, the most cheery one around that house now seemed to be good old Uncle Ianslastname, who had now taken to barking wonderfully encouraging remarks such as, "You should have gone into accounting, like your father." and "Wily entrepreneurs never make it in this world."

Wily? Wow. No other word described Laurence worse, and no other word fit Uncle Wallace more perfectly. Still, there were far worse people in my world, to whom using "wily" as a description would be a HUGE understatement.

Things weren't that great at school, either. I mean, considering my so-called "friends" had cut ties with me. I would get offers to sit at other tables from girly Luke-gushers, but I of course had no interest in conversing with them. And despite the fact that I seemed to be unwittingly leading a revolution against Clarissa that involved most of the school, she still had her conniving brood of leeches that suckled off of her and hated my guts.

She and her group seemed to be attempting to be more domineering than they were before - so domineering that they were almost to the caliber of Clarissa's Lumberjack Barbie mother. And they were doing a pretty good job.

But when I wasn't in the depressing cave that was the Winthrop residence or in the swirling pool of intimidation that was Jasperstone Academy, time seemed to speed up tremendously.

Which is why I was shocked to find myself suddenly in the middle of November.

I had been, for the weeks that led up to this, spending a great deal of my time with Luke, and with Daphne's father and grandmother. I have to say, it was incredible how close I'd become to the people I just mentioned. So close, in fact, that unless my mind happened to touch on the subject of my cousin for any particular reason, I was never the least bit uncomfortable around them. Which really wasn't good, because Daphne was the main reason I was there, but, that was that.

Luke and I were getting closer to each other every day. We found ourselves missing each other constantly whenever we weren't together, and it was becoming easier and easier to lean in to each other's faces and bring contact to our...snogging mechanisms. The snogging, actually, was happening more and more frequently. (To _snog_, by the way, is defined in my British slang dictionary as _to kiss passionately_)

And in case you're wondering, yes, I did get around to telling Luke that I fancied him.

Anyhow. It was the middle of November, and I was getting the mail, standing at the front edge of the cottage walk where there mailbox was located.

And I was surprised to find an envelope addressed to me that wasn't postmarked in the US. I opened it, and this is what I found:

The Morris Brenshire School for Boys

_and_

The Jasperstone Academy For Girls

_cordially invites_

Miss Meghan Beatrice Reynolds

_to their annual _

Winter Ball

_which shall be jointly held by both schools at_

Everston Mansion

_on the evening of_

November the twenty-fifth, two thousand and three

_at_

Eight o'clock

Inserted with this lovely invitation was an equally lovely set of rules on conduct and dress code, which I promptly put back into the envelope.

I saw that I was holding along with the rest of the mail a very similar-looking parcel for Faye. She would be included in the ball as well. Which is amazing, considering the horrible wretch she thought she was. If it had been up to Faye, she would have long since sent herself into exile.

I immediately knew what must be done, after receiving an invitation to a ball and reading it and pondering it.

That thing was to eat a sandwich. Because I was hungry.

But right after that, I would call Luke. And he would take me to the woman who'd been eagerly anticipating the arrival of the invitation far more than I was.

**"Lovely!" Jocelyn chirped**. "This is wonderful. You've received the invitation to your first ball."

"You mean, there are more?" Meghan squeaked.

"Why, of course! Have you forgotten Miss Brenshire's New Year's gathering?"

She had forgotten that.

"Oh." Meghan said, smiling. "Right."

Nerves. Nerves were clouding Meghan's thought. And the nervousness came from the excitement Jocelyn was getting out of this dance.

The excitement swelled even higher as the woman stood up, breathing in sharply and clasping her hands together. A glowing smile graced her lips.

"Oh! Yes! Now! Now, I can show you!" Jocelyn exclaimed. "Come, Meghan, come with me."

The girl did as she was told, following Lady Dashwood all the way into what looked to be her _actual bedroom_, which Meghan had still not been into as of yet, despite her many visits to the mansion.

She was pointed toward the huge canopy bed that centered the room, which she promptly sat on.

_Did my etiquette book say something about it being rude to sit on a bed?_ Meghan wondered. Though she was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to lie down...

"I have something for you." Jocelyn said excitedly as she dove into her closet. What she came out with made Meghan's eyes bulge in surprise.

A dress. Not just any dress, either. THE most beautiful dress Meghan had ever been less than ten feet away from. And Jocelyn was holding it up right in front of her face.

"That?" Meghan sputtered. "No way."

"Why not? Don't you like it, Meghan?"

Jocelyn laid the garment on the bed, right near where Meghan was sitting.

"No, I mean, of course I like it. It's beautiful." She stood up with Jocelyn to stare at what had just been laid out to her. "But _me?_ In...in that?"

"Of course."

It truly was a gorgeous dress. It was ivory, but not white, almost tea-stained actually. The bodice sported an intricate beaded design, and thick silk straps converged at the back of the neck. It flared out sufficiently and had a fair amount of organza, but was not at all poofy and looked easy to move around in. It was also not very long, and was built to hit at about the middle of the calf, exposing part of the leg. More silk made the sash, which tied in the back, and a few tiny sequins could be seen throughout the bottom of the dress. It was a gown for a princess, or maybe even a queen.

But Meghan was sure it could not be for her.

"Uh..." she stammered, forgetting her etiquette.

"I found it in a sweet little boutique not very long ago, and I knew instantly that I must grab it up for you. I'm quite sure that it will compliment your brown hair perfectly."

Meghan could only stare.

"Try it on."

She looked up.

"But...I..."

"My dressing room's right over there." Jocelyn said, shoving the dress into Meghan's arms. "Well, go on then!"

And of course, Meghan did so. Within minutes, she was stepping tentatively out of the little dressing enclosure and back into the woman's plain sight.

"Oh, my!" Jocelyn breathed, now completely in swooning mode." You look positively divine!"

Meghan stepped over to the full-length mirror, with her companion stepping up behind her. And she could not believe her eyes.

The dress fit perfectly, and fell in all the right places. Her wavy hair pooled around her face and just barely touched the top of the dress, Though it was a light color, Meghan was surprised to find that it really didn't seem to wash out her skin, Maybe she wasn't that pale, after all.

But what surprised Meghan the most was being in the dress itself. She had never, ever, _ever_ worn something so extravagant, so elegant, so...pretty. Not even at those weddings her aunt had sang for, not even at those few formal dances she and Daphne had been to, had she worn such a fancy dress. It felt foreign, and new. But it also felt amazing.

Meghan was almost in a trance, having never felt so beautiful in her entire life. However, due to the things she'd been presented with recently that had put her in similar trance-like modes, she was able to quickly bring herself out of it.

"Lady Dashwood." she wavered. "This is all very, very nice of you. But I'm really not sure -"

"It's perfect." Jocelyn stated. "You're just not used to this kind of thing, and I understand. But you like it. I can see it in your face. This dress was made for you. And now it is yours."

Meghan ran her finger across the beads on her chest. Part of her did feel wonderful. Part of her did feel like she fit. Not only in this dress, but in everything. Where she was. Who she was with. The dresses, the courtyards, the fountains, the gardens, the sophistication...and the people. In some strange way, Meghan did feel like she belonged.

But ever present was the part that was telling her that she was a greedy, lying snake, thinking that she had a right to any of these things that in truth should rightfully belong to her cousin.

Meghan's head drooped down, if only a little. But Jocelyn noticed. She took Meghan's chin on the tips of her fingers and gently tilted her head up, looking directly into her eyes.

"Whatever it is you are thinking, Meghan," Jocelyn said, softly but firmly, "I want you to disregard it. I am doing these things for a reason."

Meghan kept looking, now on the verge of tears.

"I can't say I know for sure what it is that makes you want to pull back. I have a feeling, however, that you think my attention should go to someone else. If that is the case, than it is so. But I also made up my mind, a long time ago, to care about you. And I intend to do that, regardless of the circumstances I may be presented with. I know one thing for a fact, Meghan - you are no ordinary girl. If you were, you would not keep coming around."

There was nothing Meghan could think of to say in response to that.

"Now hurry on back in there and change. Lucas is waiting for you. And in case I've not informed you yet, you are to call me Jocelyn."

**As Meghan, carrying her new dress,** came out of the mansion with the other teenaged visitor, she realized she had to say something.

"Luke." she said in a resigned breath. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"What?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"This. Coming here. Being with them, when I know it's not right."

"Who said it wasn't right?" Luke countered. "Meaning, other than Sir Mr. Payne?"

"No one said it. It's just true. _Daphne_ is Jocelyn's grandchild. _Daphne_ is Henry's daughter. But it's _me_ who keeps coming and doesn't say a word. I know what I need to do. But I can't do it."

"Just because you haven't done it _yet,_" Luke said as they strolled out of the gates, heading for Brenshire Manor, "doesn't mean you can't do it _at all._"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I _mean_ is that no one would expect you to just walk up to Lord Dashwood and say, 'Hello. My cousin is your daughter.'. Well, certainly not me anyway. I can only imagine the difficulty that something like that would present. You're holding off. Does that make you cruel? You think it is _wrong_ that you're here, or even that you're in England? Bullocks. I think it's quite the contrary, actually. You were obviously meant to be here, and though you won't really admit it, I think you _want_ to be here."

"Of course I want to be here!"

"No. That's not what I mean. I think you truly _want_ it, more than just a pleasant little experience you can carry around in the corner of your memory, more than just the chance to say, 'I've been to the United Kingdom.', more than just a bunch of snapshots you'll show your friends in the States and go, 'Well, let's see, what country shall I conquer next?'. You, Meghan, are not that kind. I've seen hundreds upon hundreds of tourists, many of whom from America, roaming the streets, with their giant visor hats and their comfy white sneakers and their cameras around their necks. They were only visiting. You, my dear, are _thriving._"

Meghan had no idea where he'd gotten this nonsense.

"Thriving? Sure. If by _thriving_ you mean being plastered on every magazine in the country, constantly being tortured by Clarissa, being in the headmaster's office at least once every week, causing scandal everywhere I turn, and just making a general fool of myself on a regular basis - then yeah, I guess I'm thriving."

Luke only grinned and chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Just how oblivious you are at times to the most obvious things."

"Well, whatever. That still doesn't help the fact that _I'm_ here, and Daphne's in New York. And that I don't seem to want to do anything to change that."

They still hadn't yet reached Luke's residence, but he stopped anyway, rocking on his heels, seemingly in thought. Then, he pulled Meghan aside, over near some big stone wall.

"Henry and Jocelyn both will be chaperoning the ball, am I right?"

Meghan looked at him, a little confused.

"Yes..."

Luke held up his finger as he looked away for a minute, verifying to himself what was forming in his mind.

"Then I say...we tell him. On that night. November the twenty-fifth, two thousand and three."

Meghan kept her eyes on him.

"Really. You think the perfect time would be in the middle of some big party, surrounded by crowds of people."

"No, you silly thing. The mansion has private rooms! We take him aside. And the night of the ball will make it special. It will also give everyone time."

"Time?"

"Yes. Time for you to ready yourself, time for Jocelyn to do all of her ball planning things, time for these already existing supposed 'scandals' to settle, and time for Clarissa to enjoy her last few days as the Dashwood daughter."

As much as it scared her that she now had a set time at which she'd reveal the truth, Meghan did feel better. She'd be able to do what was right, and give Daphne what she'd always wanted. And Luke would be there, the entire time. She could count on him not to leave her, because he already knew the whole story, knew who Meghan was as opposed to who her cousin was - and was still by her side.

"And then, Daphne can come to England. She'll be here. With you."

Meghan's heart soared at the thought of seeing Daphne again. It was sealed.

"Okay. We'll tell him at the ball."

With that, the two naturally melted into a kiss. That signed it. It was signed and sealed - now, it only had to be delivered.


	47. The Honest Ones in Chinatown

**The very next day was Saturday, **the designated calling day. It would be the first normal Saturday in two weeks, being that the previous week included an important Saturday wedding for which all three of Meghan's family members were in attendance, and the Saturday before had been spent by Meghan at Faye's grandparents' house (the family had gone there for comfort as to the mounting loss of their restaurant), and they didn't have a phone.

Actually, it was really more like the first normal Saturday in _three_ weeks, because the phone call three weeks before this one had gone kind of strangely. For some reason, Meghan's mother, aunt, and cousin had all seemed very uptight. Not that Meghan wasn't uptight herself - after all, she was still trying to soak in her parents' past of English gallivanting. That, and trying to keep Faye - and the rest of her host family, for that matter - from killing themselves.

But the ones in New York seemed to have a particular distress. The phone call had been short, only a quick hello-goodbye, basically, from all three of them. Remembering this, Meghan wondered how _this_ call would be as she talked to the snotty operator.

This time, it was Daphne who picked up.

"Hello, what is this, a call from the UK? Hmm, I wonder who that could be."

Meghan smiled. This was good. Daphne was being her goofy self.

"Daphs! I haven't talked to you in forever!"

"And I, you. What up, Meg?"

"The ceiling. You?"

"The roof. Listen. I'm in the middle of a scrumptious microwave burrito right now. But your mom would like very much to talk to you."

"Oh. Well...okay."

Nothing wrong with that. She wanted to talk to her mom. And besides, Daphne would have that burrito down in no time.

Catherine came on the phone.

"Meghan? That you?"

"Yes, it is. Hello, Mom."

"Hello, Meghan. I cannot tell you how glad I am to talk to you, I've been missing you a lot lately."

Meghan's throat tightened a little. Her mom sounded sad, as well as a bit exhausted at the same time.

"I've missed you too, Mom."

"Little old me. Here in New York missing you while you blossom and shine overseas, adapting perfectly to the ways of what happens to be your birthplace. I'm so proud of you, Meghan."

That was kinda weird.

"Wait, what? You know that Aunt Libby told me?"

"Yes, for a few weeks now, actually." Catherine said, sounding strangely serene. "And I'm so glad it's my beautiful daughter calling me, instead of that vile creature Alistair Payne."

This startled Meghan. Very much.

"Whoa, okay, hold on a minute here. Alistair Payne? How do you know -"

"Oh, me and him had a little chat a few weeks ago. I have to say, he wasn't very nice."

Meghan couldn't believe her ears.

"WHAT?! He _called_ you?!"

"Sure did. But I gave him what for. Which is pretty good, 'cuz your aunt says he's a criminal."

Catherine was still speaking with her weirdly calm demeanor.

"Okay, Mom...you're kinda starting to freak me out."

The woman chuckled. But it was a normal, slightly nervous chuckle. She was bringing herself back to Earth.

"Oh, Meghan, I'm sorry. I've just been in sort of a stupor lately. Dealing with all the crazy, incredible things that are happening."

Alright. What, exactly, was she referring to?"

"What do you mean?"

There was a pause.

"Meghan...your Aunt Libby. She told me a lot of things."

As ideas started to form in Meghan's head as to what this meant, her mind started to go once again into a state of surprise. She processed this things to the best of her ability as she tentatively spoke to her mother.

"Things? Like...like what?"

Meghan heard her mother take in a deep breath.

"Like, about you. And her. And Daphne."

Realization was striking. Realization that those aforementioned ideas were very likely correct.

"What did she tell you, Mom?" Meghan softly breathed, as a tear mounted the edge of her eye, ready to fall.

"Everything."

**Libby sat at the kitchen table,** sipping a cup of coffee. She watched as her sister-in-law stood a few feet away, telling her daughter of the complicated events that had gone on roughly three weeks ago. The things that had set in a little in the two weeks since she'd talked to Meghan - but not much.

In a few minutes, she'd be on the phone herself. Talking to the girl who'd been entrusted with the story of her daughter's father, and who'd kept it to herself for so, so long, under the direction of Libby herself.

Catherine didn't seem to blame Libby for anything, however, on account of the fact that she herself had hidden a secret from Meghan for years. Libby listened to the compassionate woman as she relayed to Meghan everything that had now been revealed, thinking back to the day it all had happened.

_"Libby, what's going on?"_

_The blonde's face had gone completely white, and Catherine wanted to know why._

_"Nothing's going on."_

_Libby quickly dropped the cord and moved into the other room._

She knew that from Catherine's perspective, she had probably seemed easy to crack. Catherine was later to find out that Libby had long been contemplating a _voluntary_ confession.

_"Obviously, something IS going on, otherwise - why in the world did you do what you just did?"_

_"What's the big deal?!" Libby had retorted, a little too defensively. "It was just some creep. I just saved you a lot of breath that would've been wasted!"_

_Catherine had just stood there, arms crossed, warily staring at the woman._

_"You know, it's kind of strange." Catherine had placidly stated. "Because even though you never use it, your legal name IS Elizabeth."_

Libby never had been one to argue with people. She'd always been more submissive - except, maybe, to her daughter. And after a few minutes, she'd submitted to Catherine. She'd been demanded to tell the truth. She'd been forced to tell her who this 'Alistair Payne' actually was.

_"He works for someone I used to know, alright? He's a snake. I just want to forget him."_

But this time, Catherine had pressed on. It hadn't been the first time Libby had acted strangely, like this. But Catherine wanted this to be the last.

She'd cornered Libby, knowing for a fact that she was hiding something that needed to be brought out - for the benefit of everyone, including Libby herself. Catherine wasn't Libby's blood, but she knew her well enough to have grown up with her. The two had bonded so well over the last five or so years that Catherine was able to almost read Libby's emotions like a book, and she'd always known when something wasn't right. But she'd let things go.

For too long.

And now, with her daughter gone, with the lingering grief of losing the man she loved, with the stress of that wretched phone call that seemed to throw it all over the edge - all Catherine wanted was the truth.

She'd gotten her wish. She'd gotten it all.

Because all of a sudden, Libby had just broken down, let go, and fell into tears - divulging everything.

_"Henry Dashwood."_

Catherine had run for a tissue box, but had stopped in her tracks...

_"Daphne...it was 1986..."_

Catherine had been stunned.

_"Alistair...destroyed...everything..."_

The brunette had taken to sitting next to Libby on the couch, eyes wide. Tissues quickly gathered up, taking over the living room. And Libby kept going.

_"I was there...Aaron knew...I never told you...I left England for good...Daphne came with me...I still...still...love him..."_

And from that point, it had all been history. And astonishingly, Catherine had seemed more surprised by these statements then by anything else:

_"Meghan knows - I told her, about five years ago. And I...I told her where you and Aaron used to live."_

And now, everyone knew. Just as Meghan wanted - there were no more secrets in this household.

But Libby was wondering when some other things would be revealed. Despite her burrito-eating, goofy demeanor, Daphne was anxious, and Libby could see it. Not anxious as in impatient - but anxious as in scared. None of them could tell exactly what was going on in England, or who knew what.

However, it was Meghan they were dealing with. And what Libby had always known was now being proven more than ever before: Meghan was someone that she could trust.

And she would continue to do so.

**At the very same time...**

"What do you mean you can't revoke her student visa?!"

"Sir, according to what you've told me, and what it says in this girl's record, there is in fact no real evidence demonstrating that it would be necessary to -"

"I want the girl deported!!!" Alistair shouted into the phone.

But this got him nowhere, and within minutes, he'd slammed down the phone in disgust.

This was absurd. How was an ordinary, diminutive, know-nothing teenage American girl resisting every single one of his efforts?! There had to be _some_ way he could trip her up before the ugly truth came out...

Alistair pondered and pondered. And pondered some more.

It was then that Glynnis waltzed in.

"Daddy, dear, I've been having a most _dreadful_ day. It seems that there is absolute no florist in existence that is willing to cover every inch of the reception walls, as well as the chariot, with baby's breath.

"Well, of course not, Glynnis! That would be tacky!" Alistair fumed.

Glynnis stared at him blankly.

"You must be distressed, too." she mused.

'How observant of you. As a matter of fact, I _am _very distressed. I -"

He'd been about to tell her what was going on. Before he realized that it was not possible.

But wait! _Here _was an idea!

If he could somehow find proof, some kind of solid proof that Miss Meghan was connected to a certain Miss Elizabeth Reynolds, he himself would have the collateral. The material that would enable him to give the girl an ultimatum: leave, or have this deep, dark secret exposed to the entire world. On _inter_national television. Leave, or be made to look like a fool, a girl weaving some twisted lie for her gold-digging mother.

Yes. He would make her a liar. He would make it look as if that woman had set up a HUGE ploy, a ruse - and make Henry believe that Libby was trying to make him _think_ he had a daughter when, in fact, he did NOT.

Once he had that precious proof, he would threaten the little schoolgirl, telling her that if she did not leave the country at once, she would bring disgrace to both the Reynolds and the Dashwoods.

And the Paynes would reap all of the glory.

**Fin for now, but be ready next Saturday. The chapters will be here...will you? **

**-rf-**


	48. The Straw That Broke Faye's Back

**Here are the chapters as promised! Don't have much time so I'll get right to it. Thank so much for the reviews, I'll answer them next post. :)**

Monday, Monday, Monday. It was horrible Monday again. The 17th of November - eight days 'til the ball.

One thing that hadn't changed coming to this country was Mondays. They are, in both England and America, drudgery. The worst day of the week, in my opinion.

And little did I know, this Monday was going to be one of the worst Mondays I'd ever experienced.

At this point in the story, you know that ever since I'd stepped off that plane, I'd lived a shock-a-minute lifestyle. But I guess it simply wasn't quite crazy enough that:

- I'd been selected out of thousands to go to the UK because of some stinking essay

- I attended the same school as Daphne's evil stepsister and, at one point, her grandmother

- A viscount was in love with me, and I loved him back

- A hideous rodent man knew that the man he worked for had a child with an 'old flame', and was therefore out to get me

- I was suspected of being that child by everyone in the Dashwood household, with the exception of Glynnis and Clarissa, who are totally clueless but still hate me profusely

- My mother and father met _here_, of all places, and raised _me_ here for four years

- I, not Daphne, could choose to be an English citizen at the drop of a hat (talk about irony)

- Mom now knew the whole story, and then some. Which actually was more of a relief than a shock, to be honest.

Nope. Not crazy enough. And soon, you'll find out why.

But let me tell you how my Monday actually began. Luke had decided to take me to school that day, rather than Emma, and we'd stood outside of Jasperstone for a while, talking. We ignored a few cameras flashing - thankfully, they were getting fewer all the time - as we talked.

And Luke suddenly said:

"Meghan, what's going to happen?"

I looked at him strangely. Mainly because it was usually me that was worried about what was going to happen. And I was usually asking _him._

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what's going to happen to us, when...when you have to go back to the States?"

I'm not going to sit here and tell you that the thought had never crossed my mind, about how we would be able to keep a relationship with such a long distance for so long. Especially when there was really no telling when I would ever return to England...if I returned at all.

"I'm...not really sure, Luke."

"I'm sorry to be asking you this - after all, you've still got a couple of months. And I hope this isn't scaring you, but...do you actually _have_ intentions of keeping up this...relationship, if you will, after you leave?"

I looked up at him.

"I couldn't imagine anything else, Luke. I'm in love with you."

"I feel the same, Meghan. But this issue has to be addressed at some point. Because...I'm afraid I'll lose you. There are plenty of men to choose from, in the US."

He didn't want them to, he'd said so himself. But his words were scaring me. I just wanted to throw my arms around him.

So I did.

"I don't want anyone but you." I said into his shoulder.

**Meghan was eating her gourmet meal **at lunch hour on Monday when she was startled to hear a loud _THUMP! ._

She looked up to see the face of none other than Ayaka, the exchange student from Hong Kong, smiling sweetly across from her at her lonely fountainside lunch table.

"Uh...hi." Meghan stammered, a little confused.

Ayaka only nodded, still smiling, and commenced to eating her food. Meghan glanced over at the table from which she had been banished, only to catch three girls staring at her and Ayaka's direction, before they quickly turned away. A fourth girl sat at the table, quietly eating her food and paying no attention to the fact that the group had lost another member.

Seeing this, Meghan turned away herself, and went back to eating. At least now she had some company. Every day, when she sat at that table, she mulled over things - one of those things being whether or not she should feel guilty or at fault for causing any trouble in Faye's clique. But that thought didn't receive much of her time, however, because she had far more and far bigger things to worry about.

Every few days or so, Clarissa liked to waltz over to one of the tables and pick on whoever was sitting there. It was sort of a hobby of hers. Sometimes she went over to Faye's table, and shot a few lame jokes that only _she_ thought were funny.

But more often than not, Clarissa's table of choice was Meghan's. Being that she was alone, Meghan was much more vulnerable - at least in Clarissa's mind. She'd saunter up to her along with her brood of mad, cackling chickens, and jab her in any way possible.

Once, she'd approached the table with this dilemma:

"Oh, thank goodness you're here, Reynolds. I've been having the most dreadful time trying to figure something out, but since you're American, I'm quite confident you'll know. Tell me - what's the most disgusting food on Earth?"

Meghan had stared at her for a few seconds, amused at the sheer ridiculousness of Clarissa's newest material.

"Well, I'd say it would probably be a toss-up between Twinkies and pork rinds, but I don't know for sure. I mean, fruit cake is right up there, too."

Clarissa, who was much too dense to think of a decent response to that, muttered simply, "You would know." before turning to stalk off.

There were many instances like this, and in reality, they actually tended to put some spice in Meghan's day, which she enjoyed. Shooting down Clarissa's remarks was nothing short of empowering, and that benefited no one more than Meghan herself.

Though it benefited Daphne a little as well. She just didn't know it.

In any case, today, the blonde witch came out of the kitchen with her tray and her loyal followers, and looked to be headed straight for Faye.

It was the perfect time for Meghan to use the restroom.

"Will you watch my tray for me?" Meghan politely asked Ayaka.

The girl looked up from her tray.

"My tray?" Meghan asked again, trying to be as clear as possible. "And my bag?"

At this, Ayaka immediately grinned and nodded vigorously. Good enough.

Just as Meghan entered the restrooms, Clarissa began her warm-up.

"Nice day we're having, isn't it, Windbag?"

Faye, of course, went right on eating. But someone else decided to speak up.

"Shove off, Clarissa." Emily barked.

"Ah, the replacement drama queen makes a comeback. This deserves applause. Everyone?"

Clarissa's brood lightly tapped their hands together in unison.

"Stop." Emily said, raising her voice a bit more. "Just go away."

"Leave, Clarissa." Samantha chimed in.

"Hmm, perhaps I should. Fraysie's already been through quite a lot, what with the rat incident and all." Clarissa mused. "And you'd think that after accomplishing that, I'd be satisfied. But as it turns out, I'm not."

Faye put down her fork, and slowly raised her head, still looking away from Clarissa. Her eyes, dull and bloodshot, had attained a sort of blank stare - but Emily, Samantha, and Bridget could easily see the mania that was quickly developing behind that stare, due to the words that her adversary had just uttered.

The depressed blonde had been awakened from her dreary existence, if only for awhile, to very gradually turn to face Clarissa. Even the witch herself was momentarily taken aback by the mangled, thrashed, miserably empty look on Faye's face.

"You..." Faye squeaked, in a barely audible tone. "You did this?"

"Did what?" Clarissa asked, teasingly innocent.

"My father's restaurant. The...the rats. It was you?"

The grin that already sat on Clarissa's face morphed into that of a more twisted, evil grin than ever before.

"Oh, that. Why, yes...yes, I believe it was. Don't worry, you can thank me later. That is, for shutting down that dump of an eating establishment and clearing away yet another disgrace to English cuisine."

Faye was quiet. For what seemed like forever, she stared at Clarissa with that same pained, barren look in her eyes. Then, she bent her head, and for a few seconds, she stared at the ground.

Her head stayed bent as she slowly began to rise from her seat. Everyone watched as Faye's trembling hands slowly balled into shaky fists. No one said a word. She stepped forward.

Clarissa seemed amused.

"My, this is quite interesting." she said.

Still, Faye was silent. Her book bag fell to the ground behind her with a thud - she didn't give it an ounce of notice. No other sound could be heard, because the entire courtyard's attention was focused on Faye and Clarissa.

"I can't..." Faye murmured. "I can't...I can't TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!"

Her head snapped up, eyes fixed directly onto Clarissa and boiling over with fury. With rigid, determined steps, Faye quickly came forward until she was directly in front of her.

"You kick and you kick and you KICK, and you never get enough. You continue to suck the life out of everyone around you until they bow down and beg for mercy. You will do anything in your power to have attention, to get what you want. And you have the AUDACITY to come here and act like what you did to me was insignificant! But I've had enough."

Clarissa still stood where she was as Faye approached, but her grin had vanished and her eyes were narrowed, slightly curious but on the verge of indifference.

"You've destroyed my life. You've destroyed my family's lives. And now..." Faye snarled into Clarissa's face, "I'm going to destroy YOUR life."

In the course of a second, Faye had latched her eyes on Meghan's book bag, sitting on the table where Ayaka was sitting a short distance away. Within five more seconds, the bag was in her hands. And within ten more, she'd turned back toward Clarissa, dropping the bag on the ground behind her and holding something else above her head.

"Do you see this?" she asked Clarissa. "Do you see it?! This, THIS is your downfall!"

At that, Clarissa's grin returned. She gave a small chuckle with the rest of the group.

"And what might that be?" Clarissa mused once more. "Your eviction notice?"

"No." Faye answered, with a manic look on her face. "Yours."


	49. The White Envelope

**Henry Dashwood and Alistair Payne** were both at the Jasperstone Academy for Girls, there in person to obtain permission from the headmaster that the school's auditorium be used for an upcoming campaign rally.

"I still don't see why you couldn't have just _called_ the man." the bald one muttered as they walked.

Such was Alistair's character, to be so impersonal.

Henry said nothing as they entered the school and inquired as to Mr. Raspron's whereabouts. They were told that he was in the courtyard, having tea with some staff members.

"I wish I were blessed with such good fortune." Henry commented to Alistair, knowing full well he wasn't paying attention. "To be able to sit down and have a nice cup of tea in the afternoon, rather than having my nose buried in paperwork."

The two kept walking toward the doors that exited into the courtyard. Henry caught a faint smell wafting through the air of what was probably the day's main course. He pitied the ones who would have to eat it.

They traipsed through the kitchen, where a few stragglers were filling their trays, and approached the magical doors that led to the outside.

And from inside, they heard a frantic, familiar voice.

**Five minutes before this,** Meghan had finally realized that she could no longer stall the inevitable facing of Clarissa, holed up in the bog.

How funny that she was exiting the bog only to face a quivering swampland monster.

But when she actually came out, what she did see was the last thing she'd expected.

Her white envelope, held high in the air by Faye Winthrop.

"I'm about to knock you off your throne, Queen Clarissa!" came the shout. And panic immediately gripped Meghan and twisted her from the outside in.

"FAYE?!" Meghan screamed. "What are you DOING?!"

Faye only slightly tilted her head mechanically toward Meghan.

"What I should've done a long time ago." she stated, immediately turning back to Clarissa, who for the record was still nothing short of amused.

"Ah, Miss Reynolds." she sneered, Blithe-style. "How nice of you to join us."

Had it been in most any other situation, any other day, Meghan would've pondered the downright creepiness of Faye's frenzied behavior. But in this case, she didn't have the time.

"Faye." Meghan stammered. "Put that down."

"I will." Faye replied, still locked on Clarissa and moving closer to her by the minute. "As soon as I show you all what's in it."

Meghan couldn't believe what she was seeing, what she was hearing. That Faye not only knew her secret, but was about to betray her with it.

"Faye." Meghan said again, louder than before as started to come forward. "Put. That. Down."

But Faye never faltered from her walk toward oblivious Clarissa, who now was finding this even more entertaining.

"Ooh, Meghan doesn't like what you're doing. Now I'm intrigued."

Neither Meghan nor Faye heard what Clarissa had just said. They were both focused on one thing, and one thing only.

"I'm going to tell you ONE MORE TIME." Meghan said dangerously, anger coating her words. "Put that envelope away."

Faye lowered her arm, with the envelope in it. But instead of turning to put in back in Meghan's bag, she opened the flap - and began to reach inside.

Meghan lunged forward and was on Faye in a flash. She grabbed the envelope before Faye could move it, and pulled as hard as she could.

"Give it back, Faye!" Meghan furiously demanded as she desperately tried to wrestle the envelope out of Faye's hands.

"No. I refuse." Faye retorted.

Suddenly, all movement stopped. Faye and Meghan found themselves staring at each other, frozen, and linked by the precious object that to Meghan meant life or death.

For a few seconds, they just stayed that way, eye to eye, face to face. Then, Meghan released what hold she had, and stood back, still looking at Faye.

"If you don't give me what's mine, right now." Meghan told her severely. "If you show it off to the rest of the world, then I promise you, Faye - I will be on the first plane back to New York."

It was an earnest promise. And Faye knew it.

For a few seconds, the silence returned. Everyone in the vicinity had stopped eating. The headmaster, who should've been on them for disturbing the peace, was simply enjoying the show. Faye's friends were huddled together as they watched, horrified.

And then there was Faye herself. All of a sudden, a new demeanor seemed to drape itself over her being. The fury and mania melted away from her face, leaving only its original pained expression. Her senses seemed to return as she fully realized the enormity of what she'd just done.

She stepped forward, and dropped the envelope at Meghan's feet. And then she walked away.

**Meghan had picked up** what had been layed out for her, and was trying to process all that had just happened as she started to move back toward the ladies' room, intending to cry her eyes out.

"Hold on, Reynolds. You know you can't leave us all hanging like this."

It was Clarissa, taunting her yet again.

"Not today." Meghan told her in a resigned breath. She began to move again.

"Oh, don't be silly. Now's the perfect time." Clarissa said. "I'm interested in that letter of yours."

Meghan, exhausted, turned to look at Clarissa.

"I'll make you a deal, Reynolds. Show me what you've got there, and I'll leave you alone. I was obviously meant to see it, as your friend has just shown."

"Clarissa." Meghan breathed. "Please, just leave me alone."

Once again, she began to move away.

"Well then." Clarissa declared. "I guess I'll have to make you."

Meghan stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clarissa reach into her pocket.

"Show me your letter, or this becomes mine, forever." Clarissa said, as she pulled out a shiny silver object on a shiny silver chain. Meghan's locket.

At this, Meghan whirled around.

"That," she said coldly, "does not belong to you."

"Maybe not now." Clarissa replied. "But it will."

Meghan quickly approached Clarissa and grabbed at the locket, instead grabbing only air as Clarissa pulled it away.

"Trade me?" Clarissa suggested, still eyeing the envelope.

"My father gave me that locket." Meghan pleaded. "Give it back."

"Oh, is that so?" Clarissa sneered, slipping the jewelry back into her jacket. "Well, don't worry then. I'm sure he can get you a new one."

"Give that back!" Meghan repeated. "Now!"

Unbeknownst to the two arguing girls, Alistair and Henry had both just stepped into the courtyard, looking for Mr. Raspron - who was nowhere to be seen, having just run to the kitchen for another helping of beef stroganoff.

"Just call up your father!" they heard Clarissa say. "Where is that man, anyway? In bed with your mother, in the trailer park?"

These words made Meghan's blood boil more than anything Clarissa had ever said before. She glared daggers straight at Clarissa's face.

"My father is in Kosovo. Right now. In some terrorist prison. And you know what?!" she spat in Clarissa's face as she burst into tears. "He's probably dead!"

With Daphne's information still clutched firmly in her hand, Meghan ran away from Clarissa - and almost ran right into Henry and Alistair. She gave them a quick glance before moving around them and throwing herself into the building as fast as she could.

The two men looked at Clarissa, who only shrugged as she realized they were standing there, before sitting down with her friends to a scrumptious meal.

**Well, there you go. A twist and then some...ended on a pretty sour note, but next two should be better.**

**Back soon**

**-rf-**


	50. The Contempations

**Yes, I'm an idiot. We all know this.**

**However, this idiot has two chapters up and ready to read, and the next two will be up this Wednesday. That's right, _Wednesday._ Read on and rock on, friends.**

**The Ditsy One: Actually, Alistair probably would've _helped _Clarissa, had he known what she was doing. Your wait is over! :)**

**Mrs.Scott323: I didn't know either, lol. Clarissa will get her come-uppings eventually, no worries. And i've always wondered about her father too! Hmmm, maybe I should think about that... ;)**

**Mari324: :) Thanks, glad I gave you a surprise.**

**Call Me Mimzy: Ooh, good idea with the double-team thing lol. You're going to like the next few chapters. **

**iccy: YAY NEW REVIEWER! Thank you so much, I'm so glad you like it! :) Lots of happy faces...**

One sentence - no, one question, echoed throughout my mind. It replayed itself, over and over, for an incredibly long time. I couldn't shut it off, I couldn't stop it. One question.

How could she?

Surprisingly and tragically, the "she" I'm referring to is not Clarissa Payne, whose blood contains the evils of a thousand wolverines and a rabid cat for good measure, as it speeds through her veins and powers her conniving mind. Not Clarissa, who'd just accused my parents of being trailer trash. And let me assure you, she'd certainly pushed a red button on Meghan Reynolds by doing so.

But someone else had pushed it, and today, that person had pushed harder. How can you push harder? By doing it out of the blue. Because you're _supposed _to be a good person.

And I used to think that Faye Alexandria Winthrop was a good person.

How could she.

It's a very strange feeling. Like, almost as if you have more resentment for someone who used to be your friend than you do for the people who were always against you.

Faye was never my _best_ friend. Daphne is my best friend. But I still thought we had something, me and Faye. A little bond, maybe. For a while, I'd felt a camaraderie between us, being that were both outcasts, and both rebels against the general rich/noble majority at Jasperstone Academy. Like me, she was taunted and pushed around. And like me, she still kept going.

But she'd never stood up for herself. It was ME who stood up for her. And when I'd decided, on my own accord, to lower the cannons I'd raised toward Clarissa, she'd been unhappy. They'd all been unhappy.

Why? Why did they have such a problem with me? Why do such ridiculous standards exist, at that school and everywhere else?

I know. That's life, right?

But how could she.

I couldn't for the life of me believe that she had known the whole time. That my cousin was the daughter of one of the most prominent politicians in Faye's country. Was that the reason why she'd been all weird? When had she found out? How did she find out? I didn't know.

Faye had no reason to be weird. To feel weird. I mean, I know it must have been surprising to find out.

But she could've just _talked_ to me. Even if I was a little ticked at first, I would've understood eventually. I would have.

But she kept it all to herself.

Just like she keeps _everything_ all to herself! All bottled up inside, constantly, all day and night! No wonder she ended up so depressed. After I came along, that is.

But I am SICK and TIRED of blaming myself for Faye's misery. I didn't cause her to find out about Daphne. I didn't cause the near expulsion that she never even found out about. I didn't cause the rats. And I didn't cause Faye to be tortured by Clarissa.

Hey! You know what? For the first time, I've finally realized - it's not my fault! _None _of this is my fault!

Has my coming to England caused a stir? Yes.

Chaos? Uh, yeah.

But it's necessary chaos, because I _had _to come here. Meghan Reynolds had to come to England, so that Henry Dashwood would know he had a daughter. And with any luck, he now knows that this daughter isn't, um, oh yeah: ME.

But that depends on how much the man heard.

A lot of bad things are happening due to my presence. I wish these things weren't happening. But there is no other way.

Faye was right about one thing. She really _should've_ stood up for herself a long time ago.

But not by waving my cousin's birth certificate in the air.

I'm sorry, Faye. I really am. But I'm not in the wrong here. You are.

**He didn't know what to think.** He didn't know what he thought he'd been thinking before. He didn't know if what he was thinking now was or should be any different from what he'd thought before.

Henry was confused.

It was a gray-area sort of feeling. A...theory of his, shall we say, had basically just been proved false. Or had it? He may not have thought it in the first place. And really, it was not something he should be having any problem with.

But...did he have a problem with it? Was this blank, dull, boring feeling a problem?

It shouldn't have been. He'd dealt with it for close to eighteen years.

No. Stay away from there! Mustn't think in that direction. Ah, there we go. Think of something else. This paper. Now what does it say?

_"The deficit for the previous year has been shown to have expanded this present year by 37.9 percent..."_

Oh, who cared. Henry leaned into his hands, rubbing his forehead.

Why was it so bloody hard to concentrate?!

He took a sip of coffee, and thought perhaps that it tasted bitter, but wasn't quite sure.

Such boredom this was. My, this desk was messy. It looked nothing like Alistair's. Alistair's desk was always neat.

Wait, what? What did he care how Alistair's desk looked?! Alistair worked for _him!_ Ha, right. Alistair worked for himself. His own bald self. Was there a fly in here?

A number. If only he'd had her number. Then there wouldn't be this mess...

Thinking again! Must not think! Must read, drink coffee...

"Henry?"

Mother.

"Yes?"

"Are you feeling alright?"

He looked up to see Jocelyn, standing in his doorway.

"Yes, Mother, I'm fine. Just busy, is all."

"Why don't you take a break, dear? Have some tea?"

"I would love to, Mum, I really would, but I simply must get back to work. I've been a little too heavy on the chess and the tea sandwiches lately."

Jocelyn looked on for a few seconds, disappointed, before turning to continue down the hall. Well, that was that. Maybe there was something on the telly.

**Alistair** was confused as well. But maybe, perhaps, not in quite the same way.

He'd only just hours ago seen that abomination of an exchange student in what must've been her natural, primal state - yelling like a banshee. Most of what she'd yelled, as far as words went, had escaped his comprehension. But he'd heard enough of a last little bit to cause him to do some mulling over.

It was simply pathetic, he thought, that the girl had such control over his ideas and actions. But he knew he was smarter than she was.

The screaming had been directed at his granddaughter, who Alistair knew had provoked the beast in some way. He'd specifically warned her against doing that, and her disregard of such warning made Alistair somewhat annoyed and, admittedly, a bit uneasy.

At the same time, however, could he really _blame_ Clarissa? Never mind all the trouble that Miss Reynolds had caused - just the fact that she was such an obnoxious wretch all around was reason enough to want to taunt and pick at her. The girl was _asking_ for it.

But never mind his darling daughter's daughter. The fact of the matter was, what he'd caught in the screams had gone completely against what he'd had Meghan Reynolds pinned as being.

She'd screamed that her father was a lost soul in Kosovo.

The thing was, as far as Alistair knew, Henry Dashwood was at this moment rotting away in his office. Which was nowhere near Kosovo.

Hence the conflict of thought.

Say the girl was telling the truth. One thing she did have going for her was that at the time she'd uttered those words, she'd been oblivious to the fact that he and Henry were even there. Therefore, she'd have had no reason to really go into any detail as to who her father was. To have said, "He's with my mother, at home, incessantly inhaling cheeseburgers." would've been sufficient enough as a lie. So, due to the detail she had in fact put into her testimony, she may have actually been telling the truth. If so, should he feel relieved, indifferent, or perhaps even a bit ridiculous?

But then again! Wouldn't that be exactly what she'd want him to think? Maybe she'd come up with this "Kosovo" story long beforehand, just to prepare for the scenario in which she was questioned of her paternity before she was ready to answer truthfully, to drop her exploding grenade? One thing was for sure, she certainly wouldn't have just come out and told _Clarissa_ such a truth.

Hold on. Would she, on second thought? Because in certain perspectives, the "truth" could be looked at as revenge toward Clarissa, whom he knew Miss Reynolds must hate with a passion. Clarissa would be devastated, as well as enraged, were she to discover that her soon-to-be stepfather had a biological child.

Which he did.

The question was, was this child the brown-haired cretin that was at this very time not only _in _London, but living and attending school here and making Alistair's life a living nightmare all the while - or was it someone else?

It was impossible to know. Should he, regardless of the circumstances, still try to find collateral that could "expose" Meghan Reynolds...or would he just be wasting his time?

Alistair only wished that things could be as before, in which he spent his days, when not working, lazily daydreaming. Daydreaming of his pending rise to even higher status, and wallowing in the pleasure of his sickishly vile fantasies of stretch marks, adoption agencies, or most enjoyably...quicker solutions.

How he missed those golden years.


	51. The Breakdown

**Things were icy **between Meghan and Faye, to say the least. When the bell had rung in the midst of Meghan's sobbing, she'd quickly forced herself to bite the bullet, as she had many times before. She'd shoved painful thoughts to the back of her head once again, still having not had a real chance to release them. And she'd gone to class.

Thankfully, there were no more classes with Clarissa the rest of the day. There were stares from others, but Meghan had long since accepted that as the norm. However, trying to concentrate on school was completely impossible, for Meghan was too wracked with the disbelief of Faye knowing the truth about Daphne.

The car ride home that day had been almost unbearable. Only around Alistair had Meghan felt more tense than she now did sitting right next to Faye. The girl had lied to her, and she had betrayed her. Meghan wouldn't talk to Faye, and didn't know what could be said if she did. Thus, the car was silent the entire way home.

This was sad because Emma had lately been trying to adopt a new, more peaceful outlook. Laurence had been trying to follow suit, and together with his wife had at the dinner table been proposing such things as, "Let's talk about the good things that happened today." and "Remember to look for the silver lining! It's always there!"

As a side note, angsty teenager Anthony hadn't been much help to things either, having now taken to almost constantly residing in his bedroom and making depressing demo tapes. Not even Faye's diary, in fact, could excite him now.

Optimism, in truth, had actually been one of Meghan's strong points. And for the most part, it still was. But not today.

Today, Meghan had joined the Winthrops in somber sadness. She'd no sooner stepped in the door to the cottage than was in the sitting room, trying to study her brains out. It was all she could do to keep from letting herself fall back and go to sleep. She vaguely latched on the hope that maybe, just maybe, Luke would call.

But, being the busy thing that he was, he did not.

As for Faye, she'd shut herself in her room, as one might've guessed. Meghan didn't know what the girl was doing in there, and really didn't care, either.

For the next three days, things went the very same way. Meghan and Faye never spoke, never a word, and stayed out of close proximity with each other as much as possible. Meghan would escape with her love whenever she could, but eventually would always have to go back to the Winthrops' and to Faye - and sleep in the same room with her every night. Luke always made her feel a million times better, and he'd also promised that she'd get her precious locket back as soon as Lord Dashwood knew the truth. Even so, Meghan gradually felt a little brighter, what with her constant showering of affection from that boy as well as trips to the Dashwoods', to prepare for the ball. Luke had been giving Meghan some dancing lessons with Jocelyn as their supervisor and critic - and a nice, helpful critic at that.

_Why can't Simon be more like her?_ Meghan thought.

By 8 o'clock Thursday night, Meghan was well on her way to mastering the waltz. And she actually dismounted Luke's scooter with a smile on her face after their ride back to the Winthrops'.

"Bye, love." he'd stated. "Tomorrow, then."

"Yes. Tomorrow, then." she'd repeated. It was a ritual they'd recently adopted, as they now found it hard to leave each other's company without the concrete prospect of meeting the very next day.

Meghan had then gone inside, as she'd done multiple times before, and had gone up the stairs to the bathroom to brush her windblown hair. On her way out and back down the hallway, she noticed something peculiar - the door to Faye's bedroom was open. And no one was there.

"Mrs. Winthrop." Meghan said, once back downstairs. "Is Faye gone somewhere?"

Emma looked up from the cleaning she was toiling over, then looked back and sighed.

"Don't ask me where she is, dearie." she said in a resigned breath. "Just took off somewhere. Out for a walk, she said. She'll be comin' back soon, I'm certain."

In spite of herself, Meghan was worried at this. But she was not allowed much time to worry, before the phone rang.

**Thursday had not been a good day **for Daphne. And it wasn't nearly over yet.

She was sitting on her bed, legs crossed, with open books and papers spread out in front of her. Her nose caught the smell of rubber and graphite as she poked the eraser of her pencil against her lip. It was what she always did when she was stuck, or lost in thought.

Daphne found herself looking to her left about every five minutes, at the other bed in the room, which had been vacant now for almost two months. On the bed was an old Pocahontas comforter, complete with pillow in a Blue's Clues pillowcase. Above the bed hung a large poster of Audrey Hepburn, surrounded by butterfly wall decals. In between the two beds was a nightstand, and on it sat framed pictures of the two closest friends on Earth. And above this nightstand was...what else? A Beatles poster. Right in the middle - that'd been the best place for it.

Daphne was missing Meghan. Terribly.

When she wasn't looking at the bed, Daphne was looking at the far left wall. Against that wall was a tall bookcase, filled with Meghan's treasures. There were the normal things, like a jewelry box, stuffed animals and well, books. But then there were other things, like Pirates of the Caribbean action figures, a framed picture of Princess Diana, and an old chess piece Meghan had received from that guy Merv - the top had broken off.

Daphne grimaced. She'd just gotten some eraser shavings in her mouth. Bending over her small trash can, she spit them out and fell back onto her pillow. She turned to her right, and saw _her_ bookcase.

It was, in many ways, quite different. Daphne's bookcase was one to include such things as a coin collection, two of her mother's old tambourines, and a jar filled to the brim with guitar picks. There was an old rock she'd found in New Jersey that was shaped like John Wayne's head, and an Andy Warhol banana print resting behind it. Daphne's gaze came to a rest on a stack of old A-Track tapes, right before she decided to close her eyes.

There were two people, Daphne thought, that she would give anything to embrace at that moment.

The first was obviously Meghan. Daphne was becoming increasingly unsure of whether she'd be able to go another two or so months without that face, that laugh. The phone was just the phone, and the phone was nothing. Daphne couldn't stop missing Meghan. The thousands of miles between them were crushing Daphne under their weight. She had a void, a hole inside - and she missed the person who'd always been able to somewhat fill it.

But another person was impossible to miss. He could only be longed for.

Daphne could never understand herself, her feelings of emptiness for someone she'd never even met. There were millions of girls, all over the planet, who grew up without a father - and a good portion of them probably couldn't care less. Was it the fantasy of it all? Would Daphne still long for him if he were, like, a potato farmer in Idaho? Maybe. As long as it was the same person.

She had no demeanor, no character, no voice to latch onto. To match him to. Her mother's descriptions were vague, and Daphne knew why. Libby didn't want to remember anything about him. But she couldn't surrender her memories to her daughter. They were locked in her mind, out of reach.

And all Daphne wanted was to run to him, to bury her face in his shoulder. Hear him talking. Smell his cologne. Feel strong arms wrap around her. Maybe it was childish and ridiculous, but she just _didn't care._

Her eyes squeezed tighter shut as tears began to leak out. How much longer was she going to have to do this? Even Aunt Cathy knew now, and that had made it even more real, her feelings more intense. Daphne could hardly stand it. She wanted him so badly that it hurt. Oh, did it hurt.

She pressed her face into her pillow, where for a few seconds, it was impossible to breathe. Daphne was in pitch black darkness, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. It was just herself, her thoughts, and her heartbeat.

When she finally had to raise her head for air, she knew what she had to do. She couldn't wait any longer.

Daphne had to talk to Meghan. Now.

**I didn't know** **why Mrs. Winthrop** was holding the phone out to me. I never got calls on Thursdays. Come to think of it, I almost never got calls at all.

But of course, I took it.

"Hello?"

"Meghan." said an exhausted but sort of urgent voice in the phone. "I - I need to talk to you..."

"D - Daphne?" I exclaimed, fast walking up the stairs to Faye's room. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know." she told me, voice quivering. "I just...I miss you and..."

"And what?"

She didn't answer.

"Just calm down, Daphne. And tell me what's wrong."

I heard her take a breath, trying to take my advice.

"I'm trying to do some homework, but I'm just having a breakdown. Because for some reason I just can't stand it anymore. I just got hit so hard all of a sudden...Mom doesn't know I'm calling you..."

I thought about what she was saying.

"Is this...is this about..."

I knew I was right, and didn't have to finish - because she started crying.

"No...Daphne, don't cry..."

"I need to."

Maybe that was true. After all, she didn't know what I knew, or what I'd been doing. I wasn't sure what to say - I'd just realized that there was still yet another secret, one that _I_ was keeping from _her._

Trying to fend off pangs of guilt, I said the best thing I could think of.

"It won't be much longer. Just trust me, Daphne."

"There's nothing you can do! There's nothing anyone can do. I'm just running around in circles for nothing. I don't know what to think. Dang it, what's wrong with me?!"

"Nothing...nothing's wrong with you...listen Daphne, you just gotta hang in there, I promise things will be..."

"Don't say that. Things won't be alright until I see you again. Not even a little bit alright. They just won't."

What was I supposed to say to that? I wish I knew.

"Why am I so important?" I asked. Which was the question I'd been asking in my mind for years.

"Because you're the only one who understands." she breathed. "You know what it's..."

She stopped. I knew she'd been about to say that I knew what it was like. My throat tightened a little.

And I wondered what was worse. To never experience a precious thing, or to have it...and then lose it.

I had to fight the thought, I knew. To keep from crying.

With the phone still to my ear, I walked toward the window. It was dark, but the moon was shining bright enough to see the world outside. And if I squinted hard enough, I was able to see that famous, gigantic clock. The entire view was breathtaking - not bad for a cottage. This was London, understated and real. Honest, and not flashy. Only seen by coming, and surely, hard to leave behind.

Daphne was still breathing hard on the other end, still trying to stop sobbing. I waited.

Somehow, I could tell that this had to be a turning point. After all that both of us had been through, there was nothing more fitting for us to be doing than to be talking to each other, right now. Connecting as best we could, and wishing together for the sun to come, once and for all.

**BE HERE WEDNESDAY. Until then, free cereal, chinese food, AND burritos for all. And check out my profile, to see what happened when I tried to get help for my writing problems...**

**Peace and nachos,**

**-rf-**


	52. The Umbrella

**Okay, here I am...with a slight change of plan. 53 ain't ready yet, so only 52 is up. BUT expect 53 either tomorrow or Friday - not TOO long a wait, I hope? And be excited - 53's a pivotal chapter. ;)**

**cassiopoeia: YaAaAaAaY!! You're back! Though you haven't reached this chapter yet...but I am SO happy and I LOVE your reviews. (and I sadly haven't been to England either. YET.) By the way, Third Rock? It Rocks.**

**elle: Patience, my dear. But be very excited. :)**

**Mrs.Scott323: Yes, Alistair is the creepiest of the creepy. Enjoy the chinese food, it's fresh...I think. / I love your reviews**

It was the night before the ball. Funny enough, it was a Monday night. And Meghan and Luke planned to be as prepared for the _following_ night as humanly possible.

There had been one final dress fitting/dance recital for Jocelyn that afternoon, which had gone quite smoothly and enjoyably - though her son, as he had been lately, was nowhere to be seen. Then, Meghan had gone with Luke for his tuxedo fitting.

"How do you like this one?" he'd asked her, as he modeled a suit that had an interesting-looking jacket - one that had a split tail in the back.

"Uh, does it come with a matching bowler hat?" she'd asked, trying not to laugh.

"Clever. On to the next one then."

Eventually, they finally did find the perfect tux. However, much to Luke's boredom and exhaustion, it took them an hour and a half to do so. Therefore, by the time they left the third shop of the day, suit in hand, it was already dark. It was also on the verge of raining.

Which it did. And Meghan was thankful that both the suit and the dress were safely wrapped in plastic as she rode back to the Winthrops' on Luke's motorbike.

"I'll be picking you up at seven tomorrow night." Luke told her when they came to her front door. "Will you be ready?"

"I...hope so." Meghan told him.

He squeezed her hand.

"Don't worry. Everything will be fine. You'll see."

Meghan forced a little smile and nodded her head. She was trying to believe him, but she had a strange, foreboding feeling that wouldn't subside.

He gave a small smile back and winked. But as Luke walked back down the path toward his soaked bike, Meghan watching the whole way, he himself was wondering what millions of things might go wrong.

A minute later, Meghan was inside. Emma was in the kitchen, cleaning again, in a bit of a worried haste.

"Meghan, thank goodness you're back. Ya haven't seen Faye by any chance, have ya dear?"

"No...is she gone again?"

"'Fraid so. Ack, I dunno what gotten inta her! It's rainin', and she's out who knows where..."

Meghan wished she could help Mrs. Winthrop, for she knew _exactly _what had gotten into Faye. But she didn't know how to change it, let alone even _talk_ to Faye, which parts of her were still determined not to do.

Meghan thought of what Faye had said last night, when her mother had questioned her about the ball.

"I'm not _going_ to the ball."

Figures. Meghan knew that Faye hated herself too much to even _think_ of attending.

She took off her coat, hung it, and took her dress up the stairs. Laying it on her bed, she noticed that the window in Faye's bedroom was open just a crack.

_That's weird..._ Meghan thought, walking over to close it. She did so, and was about to dig out her dress shoes when something out the window caught her eye.

It was a girl, sitting on the bench of a picnic table in the park. A blonde girl. Faye.

She was sitting with her head somewhat bent, one leg tucked behind the other. She had on a slicker and hat, but neither one seemed to be doing her much good as she sat there, just _letting_ the rain pound down on her.

It was a very depressing sight.

Without hesitation, Meghan moved from the window and pounded down the stairs. She grabbed her coat, and an umbrella.

"Meghan, you just got here! Where are you going?" she heard Laurence call from the den.

"To get Faye." she shouted back. And she ran out the door.

The rain was coming down harder than it had been before, and it seemed about eleven times colder, too.

_Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!_

Meghan's feet hit the ground, one after the other, as she kept up her determined run. As she started to reach the more public area, she worked to dodge the fast-walking people as they shuffled home from work. The water pricked her legs, which were partially bare between the tops of her knee socks and the bottom of her coat.

She rounded the corner into the park. At that same speed, she kept moving - until she was about ten feet behind a certain picnic table, staring right at Faye's back.

And Meghan stayed that way, for a minute. Just looking at the poor girl whose life had been turned upside down. Faye was alone - at least in her mind, and wasn't putting up any sort of front whatsoever. Her depression was honest. Meghan knew that Faye deserved to have at least _that_ to her name.

Faye wasn't heartless. She was just lost.

"Faye!" Meghan shouted.

The girl didn't move, nor did she answer. Nothing changed.

Meghan came closer.

"Faye! Please listen!"

Still no reply. Meghan advanced even more, until she was close to being directly on the other side of the picnic table.

"Faye. Come on. Just come with me. Get out of this rain." Meghan breathed one more time. She lifted the umbrella, which she now realized she'd neglected to open - and opened it now.

Faye saw its shadow. Meghan's shadow. It was unmoving.

Slowly, she turned her head, showing half of a wet, resigned,

beaten face. Tears crossed courses with raindrops as they trickled down the girl's cheeks, streaming away from her desperate eyes. Faye turned her gaze, forlorn, on Meghan, breathing in, then breathing out...

And then, she surrendered.

Faye pushed herself up, walking over, and grabbed hold of the umbrella. She stood there until Meghan began to walk. Then, she walked with her.

Meghan felt Faye's nearness and heard her breathing as they stepped together, huddled under the umbrella. No one said anything, no one looked at the other's face. Faye only stared down at hers and Meghan's feet as they moved, while Meghan herself looked up and ahead and guided their way. They walked through the park and out into the town, weaving around the busy people. They walked back into the residential district, uphill, past every little yellow or white or brown cottage, until they came to the most familiar one of all.

Meghan opened the gate, and they walked on through. When they reached the door, Meghan turned the knob. She stepped aside to let Faye go in, and then followed in herself.

Faye stood there, in the entryway, with Meghan behind her, until Emma looked up from her kitchen work and saw her daughter's face. Instantly, Emma flew over, catching her daughter in a tight embrace. Laurence, who'd seen her fly by, came out of the den - and was soon doing the same thing.

And Meghan watched them for a minute, before hanging up her coat, and going up the stairs.

**Jocelyn had been to a great many balls** to say the least, and had chaperoned a considerable portion of them. But almost never in her life had she anticipated attending a ball of this importance.

If you asked her why this ball was so important, it's uncertain whether she could give an exact answer. She didn't know for sure herself, though she did have a few ideas floating around. But mainly, it was just an overwhelming feeling of _change,_ a flipping over and shaking out.

What was it? Who knew. But certainly, it must be worth preparing for.

Which she was doing. Of course, her outfit for the affair had long since been arranged, and she planned on sporting a regally modest hairstyle, as she always did. And then there was the ball itself - she'd been a main consult on the committee, helping with preparations for over a month. She had agreed from the beginning that Everston Mansion would be a lovely spot, with its excellent ballroom and polished decor. The mansion itself had been there since 1875, but had been so well maintained and so well built in the first place that one would almost assume that it was brand new, and only _made_ to look old. A perfect destination.

There would be many important people there as well. It was a welcome fact that Henry would be accompanying her, which would surely force him to take his mind off his work for at least a short while. Of course, however, Glynnis and Alistair would be attending as well, being that it was Clarissa's last Winter Ball before leaving Jasperstone Academy. She knew that the two also had other reasons for coming along, such as to make absolute sure that at least one of them was orbiting around Henry the entire time.

Perhaps the "mind off work" idea was a bit too much to hope for.

In any case, one aspect of the ball seemed to excite Jocelyn more than anything else - the girl from New York, who'd be wearing her dress.

Yes, Jocelyn had told a little white lie. She hadn't in fact found the dress in a sweet little boutique, as she'd said - but rather had procured it from the recesses of her closet. Like that mansion, the ivory dress had been so well made and well kept that it hadn't altered a bit since she'd worn it in 1961.

Well kept? It had been _exceptionally_ kept. And NO ONE, not even Henry, knew who the dress truly belonged to. Not that it had ever really been a _secret,_ per se, but...what interest would a boy have in frilly things like that anyway?

Of course, traditionally, it would be assumed that _Clarissa,_ her future step-granddaughter, should be the rightful owner and wearer of such a priceless item. But something had told Jocelyn that Meghan would appreciate it more. And besides, the dress had been made for a petite girl, which Meghan was - and Clarissa was not.

Did it matter whether or not that beautiful dress went to a family member? She supposed not. At least, it _shouldn't_ matter. What should matter is whether or not Jocelyn deemed the recipient deserving of it enough. Miss Reynolds fit that requirement. And perhaps...she might fit other criteria as well.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps Clarissa was the closest thing she'd ever have to a grandchild. Or maybe...

Or maybe neither of which was true.

**Clarissa wouldn't show it,** but inside, she was positively _fuming._

Why should she be fuming, you ask? She had only just succeeded in not only bashing the life of...what was her name...Fanny Wizpot, but had also been able to finally, FINALLY crack Meghan Reynolds. Hadn't she done what she'd set out to do? Hadn't she accomplished her long-awaited revenge?

Well, not quite.

True, she had been able to cause two girls she hated TOTAL HUMILIATION. She had turned the blonde into a raving monster (much to Clarissa's entertainment), and had finally gotten that wretched foreigner to shed those sweet, sweet tears.

But had either one of them transferred schools, or better, left the country? No. Had both of them really possessed the audacity to actually _show up at school_ the very next day? Why, indeed they had. And had that mysterious envelope of obvious importance been kept out of her reach, despite the fact that Clarissa still had ownership of a certain precious piece of jewelry?

It had.

And what was more, one of them - and in Clarissa's mind, the worse of the two - would be at that ball, sharing _her_ dance floor, tomorrow night. And accompanying her would be the gorgeous, rich, irresistible boy who, like the dance floor, should rightfully be hers. And this made Clarissa's cheeks burn with fury more than anything else.

It was almost too much for Clarissa to bear. Meghan Reynolds had positively _taken over_ her world. She'd overtaken Clarissa's rank at Jasperstone Academy, shoved her off the covers of every magazine in London and beyond, and had _even_ gone so far as to set her grimy foot in Dashwood manor, to converse with _Clarissa's_ family. Chess with Daddy. Tea with Grandmumsie. Every single solitary thing that Clarissa couldn't be bothered with but should still be entitled to.

But having Lucas as well...that tore it. That just TORE IT.

Miss Reynolds had been given every chance to break it off with him. She'd been threatened several times - that should've been enough to alert any sensible person to back off and surrender what didn't belong to them. Granted, she was an American, and a mindless American at that, and so therefore was in fact a bit _short_ of sensible - but dumbness was not an excuse. Meghan knew who her superiors were.

And yet, she'd kept on. She'd stayed with Luke, despite _knowing _that it wasn't her place. This alone, even aside from her other breaches of boundary, was enough to deserve a thorough roasting and disposal. Even so, Meghan had chosen to ignore the warnings and have her own way.

But no more. NO MORE.

The girl had crossed the line a long time ago, and had set a ticking time bomb in Clarissa the moment she'd slammed into her that first day. Now, it was about to go off. It was high time that wretch be destroyed, once and for all.

And tomorrow night, she would be. Of that, Clarissa was quite sure.

**Keep your eyes open for the next chapter. Eet ees especial.**

**-rf-**


	53. The Dances of Winter

**Ugh. Finally. I have gotten 53 out of my system. And it is the longest and most climactic one yet. I poured my sweat and blood into (not literally, ew), so...enjoy it. Yo.**

**Thanks for all reviews, answers next chap, let's get on with things... :)**

At 6:57pm, he had arrived at the cottage. It was at that moment that the last wisps of sunset were slowly fading, giving way to vast navy and tiny bits of floating diamonds. The old-fashioned streetlamps that lined the sidewalks promptly lit themselves, casting a yellowish glow throughout the area. One nearby lamp shed its light on Luke's face as he stood, near the open door of a shiny black town car. He absentmindedly straightened his tie with one hand, the other holding a small bouquet of white roses. This was it.

Lucas Brenshire felt halfway in a dream as the car door was closed behind him and he stepped up to unlock the tiny iron gate. For once in his life, he was happy to be going to a ball. And right then, with everything quiet but the soft rumbling of the car behind him and the usual chirping crickets, he had a slight fear that he might drift away - it was just too unreal. Nothing for him had ever shone with such simplicity, such genuineness. This was his kind of fantasy.

And how was one to act in one's fantasy?

Before he realized it, Luke was at the front door. He had already somehow flown down the path and up the steps, and was now facing solid wood. The buzzer was on the left. He brought his finger to it.

The result was a faint sound, followed by bustling. When the door opened, the first thing Luke saw was a mass of red curls. The red curls greeted him, then turned around, and in an Irish voice called out:

"Meghan!"

After this the woman stepped aside, and Luke stepped forward, into the house.

"Oh, what lovely flowers." the woman swooned. "She'll love them." Emma then floated off into some other dimension.

And Luke waited, gazing up at the stairs.

After about a minute, he saw something emerge from the land at the top. Something feathery and airy and white and positively beautiful. And it was then that Luke began to rise from his semi-slumber, awakened by what felt like a rush of cold water without the shock but with all of the fresh invigoration.

Or maybe it was just because he was standing near the air conditioner vent. But that didn't matter.

He'd never seen her in the dress before - the fittings with Jocelyn had been in private, while he'd simply stayed out in the sitting room, chatting it up with Ganes. So when the one he loved actually stepped out in that glittering, frothy thing, nervous eyes moving up and down...he couldn't have been more astonished. She was an absolute vision.

The girl wore strappy low-heeled shoes in metallic silver, which were accented by rhinestone flowers. A good portion of her smooth, slender legs could be seen, leading up to the bottom of her ivory fairy dress that glimmered in the dim light as she descended the staircase. Around her neck hung a sparkly flower like those on her shoes but larger, hanging on a chain - though it had been hard for her not to wear her precious butterfly necklace. Her deep, dark, chocolate brown waves of hair had been turned into spirally curls that hung down, framing her cheeks and piling down to her shoulders. An ivory-colored satin headband was the only thing restraining them. And at the center of it all was her sweet, delicate, gorgeous face, eyes accented with glittery gold shadow and cheeks giving off just the faintest pink. Most lovely of all was her exquisite smile, which though very apprehensive at the moment nevertheless lit up her persona like nothing else imaginable. As per usual.

As Meghan dismounted the final step, she came forward a few steps but still hung back, stopping in front of Luke a few inches farther than normal. She clasped her hands behind her back and lowered her face a bit, smiling wider by the second as she gazed up at Luke for approval.

As if she needed it!

"Miss Reynolds." he pronounced. "You have amazed me yet again."

Meghan looked up at him, her smile now at its full caliber. Luke approached her, and placed his free hand on her cheek. He gave her a quick, soft kiss.

"You're beautiful." he said.

She bent her head again, bashful but smiling as wide as ever. Then she chuckled.

"You look pretty swanky yourself, you know." she told him. "I mean, more than usual."

It was his turn to be bashful.

"Yes, yes, we all know I'm a snob."

"And what's this?" Meghan quipped, eyeing the bundle in Luke's hand. "We've moved up from pink daisies?"

"What's that? Oh! Why, yes, I suppose we have." he said with a smile, still lost in enchantment. He raised the flowers and held them out to Meghan. "These are for you, of course."

"Why, thank you." she said wryly, accepting the roses and bringing them to her nose. She drew in a deep, long breath and closed her eyes. "Mmm. They smell so pretty, Luke."

"Not as pretty as you." he said. She _was_ wearing a rather sweet-smelling perfume tonight.

Meghan smirked at this.

"Enough of the flattery, you scoundrel." she told him, wagging her finger. "I'm too humble for that."

Luke rolled his eyes, but complied with her request. "Alright then. Shall we get to dinner, Princess?"

He couldn't resist that one.

Meghan gave him a playful glare and a grin.

"Yes, Prince Pumpkinhead - let's go."

**They arrived at the mansion** at 8:15, the perfect degree of fashionably late, after a delicious steak dinner. Even outside, the place was bustling. Camera people for _Tatler,_ _Vogue UK_ and others, who were not allowed inside, were snapping pictures of the Jasperstone and Morris students as they shuffled through the doors.

Of course, when Meghan and Luke stepped out of their town car, the bustling erupted into an absolute frenzy.

The driver opened and held the door. Luke, being the first to step out, was immediately blinded by a surge of flashing light. Shielding his eyes, he reached back in for Meghan, who grabbed his hand and pulled herself out into the madness. They quickly started for the door, reporters hounding them all the way.

"Lucas! Lucas! What's it like to be taking someone other than Clarissa Payne to the ball?"

"Miss Reynolds! How does it feel to have what every girl wants?"

It seemed that they couldn't get into the mansion fast enough - but they got in as fast as they could. They slowed to a walk as they came up behind another couple, following others behind them down a long highway.

Meghan looked up at Luke, nervous again. He glanced down, and gave her a small smile.

"Don't worry. Just go with me. You'll know what to do."

And so Meghan just kept walking, her arm laced through Luke's, wondering what lay ahead.

The eventually reached the end of the hallway, where the other couples were ascending a velvety, carpeted staircase. Of course, Meghan and Luke followed, arms entwined, slowly climbing the steps.

At the top was another hallway. Waiting at its start was a man in a suit. Luke reached into his jacket, pulling out his and Meghan's invitations. He handed them to the man in the suit, who passed them down to someone else as the couple walked on.

Within a few feet, the walking stopped, just near a grand opening. One couple was position just inside that grand opening, light shining on their faces, while the others waited in line, out of sight. Meghan heard a loud, booming voice, before the couple stepped further and seemingly downward through the opening. The ones behind them took their place.

Within seconds, Luke and Meghan were at the front. She nervously stepped with him through the opening and into an extraordinary sight.

They were at the top of yet another staircase, gazing straight out into the magnificent ballroom.

"May I present to you Mr. Lucas Brenshire and Miss Meghan Reynolds."

They stepped forward a bit more, and stopped again briefly at the very edge of the top stair. Luke unhooked his arm and moved his hand down to grasp Meghan's, raising her hand and his chin in the air as he glanced in her direction. She glimpsed a proud-looking smile on his face as he held his eyes on her for a few seconds, before turning to face straight ahead. Then, he took a step forward...

And Meghan went right with him. Without her realizing it, her free hand rose gracefully and landed on the solid banister, gliding slowly down as she stepped with brilliant poise. Luke seemed to know what he was doing, but...somehow, Meghan seemed to be doing just as well.

Needless to say, all eyes were on them as they steadily made their way down. Meghan saw Emily and Bridget, without Faye, in one corner, giving her a sort of stern glare. She caught sight of Ian in another part of the room, looking absolutely thrilled as he made rock star signs with his hands. Of course, she saw Jocelyn, who was contented, Henry, intrigued, and Glynnis, void of coherent thought. But neither Alistair nor Clarissa were anywhere in sight.

_Good._ Meghan thought. _Maybe they had a meeting of the dark forces to attend._

Soon enough, they reached the glossy floor. Meghan worked to take in more of the glimmering ballroom, complete with its grand picture windows and brightly lit crystalline chandeliers. People mingled and moved about throughout the huge room, frequently stopping at the refreshment table for tea, cookies, and finger sandwiches. Against one wall was an extremely small orchestra, playing music to which many couples were dancing.

Luke seemed to think that the table would be a wise first stop, to ease them into their surroundings. Meghan was thankful to have him lead her toward the cookies, rather than prompting her to dance right off.

As she began to nibble on something buttery, sugary and crispy, she felt a little tap on her shoulder. Meghan turned...

To see a bright, smiling Clarissa, holding two cups of punch.

"Hello, Meghan." she said cheerfully. "Lovely evening, isn't it? I hope you're enjoying the ball."

"Clarissa..." Meghan murmured. "You've...never called me by my first name before."

Clarissa flashed her dazzling white teeth in another dramatic smile, before immediately turning her gaze on Luke.

"Lucas, dear." she chirped. "I thought I might bring you some punch. It's really quite good."

_What is it with her and punch?_

"Er, thank you, Clarissa." he stammered, accepting the drink. The blonde kept on with her creepily bright stare, an expectant look on her face - and Luke was forced to promptly take a sip.

"Like it?" she asked.

Luke tilted his head a bit, studying her.

"...Yes...I suppose I do...aren't you here with um, Armistead?"

"Oh! Yes! That's right. I should be getting back to him. Well, you two enjoy yourselves." she said, starting to move away. She kept her gaze on Luke, however, for a few more seconds. He took another drink - that seemed to satisfy her. She disappeared into the crowd.

"Luke, old fellow!" came a voice. Seemingly out of nowhere, a blonde boy waltzed over to them. "Glad you could make it."

"Hello, John."

"Yes, hello. And _you._" he said alluringly, looking at Meghan. "I don't believe we've met. John Smithers."

"Meghan Reynolds."

"Well, obviously. Everyone knows who you are, you know."

"Unfortunately, yeah. But, nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I spy an eastern beauty in yonder corner."

Meghan glanced in the direction John referred to, and saw Ayaka, who seemed a little confused by the talkative boy who waved at her.

"Yes, yes, there is one remaining foreign fox - and I do believe she is destined to be mine."

With that, John was off. Luke seemed indifferent as he took another sip of punch.

"You know, I've got to admit - this _is_ rather flavorsome."

Meghan smiled and shook her head. Luke smiled back.

"Shall we dance?" he asked her, holding out his free hand.

She thought for a moment.

"We shall." she declared, taking the hand extended to her.

Luke downed the rest of his punch, and crumpled the fancy paper cup, carelessly throwing it and Clarissa's deviousness over his shoulder as she led Meghan out on the dance floor.

**They'd planned to tell him** at exactly 9:30. It was now 9:27.

So far, Meghan was having a much better time at the ball than she expected. It was interesting to see Luke fully in his element, more charming and sophisticated than ever. And it was very surprising to her that she seemed to blend right in.

For the last hour or so, she and Luke had been gliding across the floor with an elegance that seemed to come almost naturally. Everyone seemed intrigued by Meghan's dancing skills, which seemed to extend far beyond her lessons with Luke and Jocelyn.

Maybe it was from having to dance with all those Great Uncle Petes at weddings.

The lovely time she was having had been interrupted only once - and minorly at that.

Meghan had started back to the refreshment table, leaving Luke for a few seconds to grab them some more delicious butter cookies. Mid-course, however, she'd crossed paths with strangely perky Clarissa, who'd been headed for Luke some more punch. At this, Meghan simply stopped, plucked the cup out of her hand, and turned around to give it to Luke herself.

"Thanks." she told her.

After giving Luke his drink, Meghan expected to turn back to see a fuming Clarissa, ready to explode.

But instead, she saw nothing.

And so, after retrieving and eating those cookies, Luke enjoying them with his punch, they'd gone back to their blissful dancing.

But it had now come to about that time - the time they'd decided Henry would know the truth about the daughter who longed for him. And seeing Luke try to check his watch, Meghan's heartbeat began to speed up.

"Let's see then. The time is now..."

He squinted, and shook his head. "Ack, it's hard to see. Can you read it?"

He held his wrist out to Meghan.

"9:28." she immediately declared.

"Alright, yes, thank you." he told her. "Well then. What say you, Meghan? Are you ready?"

Meghan looked away for a minute, closing her eyes, and drawing in a deep breath. This was going to be the hardest thing she'd ever, _ever_ had to do. Back in New York, when she'd imagined the scenario of meeting Henry Dashwood and telling him the truth, the prospect had seemed so easy. But the real thing had been far from easy. She'd drawn things out for so, so long, waiting and waiting...

She was tired of the waiting. It was wrong. This was wrong. It was time to make it right.

"Luke," she told him, "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

He nodded. Then, he tilted his head.

"No...no, not quite."

And he put his arm around her, drawing his hand up her neck and into her curly hair. He placed his other hand on the back of her waist, slowly, lightly rubbing it as he drew her in. And then, their lips connected, wiping away everything that burdened her, if only for a moment. They rejoiced in and treasured that moment, forgetting all that was around them, only caring of the ones they embraced. Meghan's heart slowed down and her shoulders rested as she savored this connection to one of the few people she _knew_ she could trust.

And then, he drew back.

"_Now_ you're as ready as you'll ever be."

He took her hand, and they started making their way across the floor, intention set firmly in their minds. Now was the time...now is the time...

"...for the switching dance." came a loud voice. "Everyone must now choose a dance partner, _other_ than the one you may have come with, for this next song."

And all of a sudden, the lights were dimmed - and everyone in the room began to shuffle about, quickly choosing new people to dance with. Meghan and Luke would have ignored it - if it hadn't been for Clarissa's immediate presence near them at that very second.

"Well, Lucas." she told him. "You heard what the man said."

And it was then that Meghan noticed something. Something that hadn't been there before. Something that made her burn with fury.

Her silver locket, around Clarissa's neck.

"You..." said Meghan in a low, growling voice, raising a pointed finger toward the snob whom her necklace adorned. "You...you witch..."

"Are you quite alright, Meghan?" Clarissa asked innocently. "What's the matter?"

"You've gone too far." Meghan told her. "Stop...now..."

"Is there a problem here?" came a voice.

Meghan turned to see despicable Alistair, standing directly behind her.

"Why, Grampy dear, I was only just about to partner with Lucas for the switching dance." Clarissa told him, taking Luke's hands in hers.

Meghan, now solitary, looked from Clarissa to Alistair to pleadingly at Luke, before finally resigning and slowly backing away as Clarissa took Luke into the crowds. He looked back at Meghan, able to do nothing other than raise a finger quickly in the air, as if to say, "I'll be back to you in a minute." And with Alistair staring her down like she were a criminal, she wanted nothing more at the moment than to keep on backing away.

Eventually, she was out of Alistair's sight, and Luke was out of hers. And she was left there, standing in the middle of the crowds, partnerless in the dim room.

With everyone seemingly part of a couple, the music started. Though it was without words, Meghan faintly recognized the song that the orchestra played. It was a vague, tiny reckoning to something familiar. She was puzzled as to how and why the song would be playing, but there was no doubt in her mind that the melody matched.

As she stood there, confused, looking all around, she was convinced that no one could see her, alone in the dim light. No one could see her drifting person, lost in a sea of dancing marionettes.

But someone had. She felt a hand on her shoulder...

And turned to see the deep, caring brown eyes of Henry Dashwood.

"May I have this dance?" he asked her.

She nodded. It was all she could do. And Meghan found herself once again bathing in the shock she'd grown used to knowing.

He took her hand, sweeping her into the slow, drifting dance. Beats absent in the outside reality reverberated in Meghan's mind, both of her heartbeat and of pounding drums, a missing component of the wispy song she remembered. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at that man who'd become so prominent, more in her life than he could ever be in that superficial society. She felt as if she knew him...but knew he didn't know her at all. He didn't know what a liar she was.

And what if he still believed that she belonged in his life? She didn't have a right, to this dance. To be stealing the love that belonged to the one who counted on and trusted her most. Meghan knew...she knew she couldn't take it much longer...

_If I don't say this, now _

_I will, surely, break_

She was now being forced more than ever before, to face the fact that telling the truth wasn't just hard for her...but somehow, in some illusive way, it hurt her, too.

Why did giving something to someone, something so dear to them that would give them so much joy, feel like giving something up?

_As I'm leaving _

_The one I want to take_

The truth was, Meghan had numbed herself. A long time ago. Forced herself to ignore her true, honest feelings in favor of feelings that were more convenient for everyone else - and a less agonizing for her.

There were so many things that Meghan wouldn't show. She was often so unaware of her feelings that they almost ceased to exist - or at least, seemed to. Her love for Luke had changed her, had made her believe in herself, had given her joy. Knowing him had uplifted her.

But knowing Henry had fulfilled her.

Meghan longed so much both to let go, and to hold on...

_Forgive the urgency _

_But hurry up and wait _

_My heart has started to separate_

_Henry_ was at odds with himself, as he usually was, but more so. For so long now, he hadn't known what to think. Everything conflicted with everything else. His life contradicted itself in some kind of twisted, endless cycle.

As he swept her back and forth, he found it hard to look at her face. For if he did, he might drown in the striking familiarity of that gaze, that smile.

It couldn't be. It just couldn't. Her father was is Kosovo. She'd said it herself.

But then, why was he still questioning? He'd spent over a week avoiding her, burying himself in his all-important campaign. But tonight, when he'd seen her standing alone and lost, he knew that there was no choice but to rescue her.

_There now, steady, love _

_So few come and don't go _

_Will you, won't you _

_Be the one I'll always know_

As much as he tried, and tried, and TRIED, he couldn't remove his mind from this girl, and someone else before her. He couldn't deny it. Right here, right now, there was something in her eyes that he knew, something right in front of him that he wanted to take and hold onto.

Only she, Meghan Reynolds...only she had been able to make him remember.

_When I'm losing my control _

_The city spins around _

_You're the only one who knows _

_Y__ou slow it down_

_Luke_ was lost in thought. Somehow, he and his domineering dance partner had somehow moved out of sight from the one he truly loved, the one he wanted to be with.

Where was she? Luke hoped she wasn't alone. Maybe Ian was dancing with her.

He looked up at the dim chandelier. This was strange. The chandelier was moving in the opposite direction. Also, it didn't match the others. It looked defective. It was simply the wrong shape.

But no bother with the lousy decorating. He hated mansions, didn't he? So big. Able to fit so many people. _Too_ many people. Like now.

Wait, where were they going? Why were they moving away from them? This was odd. And what was this? The orchestra was stumbling over the song! Someone obviously had forgotten how to play. The music was fading in and out. They should've just gotten Ian's band.

Or was it John that had the band?

Well, no matter. He cared about ball music about as much as he cared about mansions. And balls themselves. They were tiring. Especially this one.

Luke found that his eyes were wanting to close. He felt a little off balance. It was getting hard to dance.

Well, that was it, then. He'd have to tell Meghan it was time for a break.

"Meghan..." he said drowsily. "Can we...sit down for a bit...?"

"Alright." came the answer.

And he didn't see it coming.

_If ever there was a doubt _

_My love, she leans into me _

_This most assuredly counts _

_She says most assuredly_

Henry made himself look. Straight at her face. He half-smiled, and she half-smiled back.

Maybe there was just no use in denying it anymore. No matter what the circumstances, he couldn't stand the idea of not knowing this extraordinary person. He made a decision then and there that somehow, in some way, he would.

_And I'll look after you_

Meghan was bleeding inside. Her heart was sinking, her soul being wrenched. She was going to have to face the fact that what she wanted was not rightfully hers.

She wanted London.

She wanted chandeliers and elegance.

She wanted the dancing.

She wanted the belonging.

And she wanted _this._

It was going to be hard to surrender this touch. Hard because...because she hadn't felt it in five years.

But Daphne had never felt it at all.

Meghan knew what was right. She couldn't deny her love for Daphne, and she couldn't deny the truth.

_It's always have and never hold _

_You've begun to feel like home_

There were dancers surrounding them. Luke was nowhere in sight. But the time had come. A second more would kill her. She had to tell him, right here, and right now.

"Lord Dashwood..."

He looked at her, opening himself to whatever she was about to say, willing to take it in and fully believe it. He knew that she was made of something real - and they rarely came made like that anymore.

"Yes, Meghan?"

"I...I need to tell you something..."

_I'll look after you...after you..._

And a last few seconds ticked by, with Meghan and Henry dancing, moving together to the sound of violins.

And then someone gasped.

Someone screamed.

Someone stopped the music, and the lights undimmed

The crowd stopped dancing

And moved to the right or the left, whichever was nearer.

Really, they just backed away.

And Meghan and Henry turned to look, to see what it was they backed away from. Squinting in the sudden light, they searched for an opening, and came forward. Henry's hand still lightly rested on Meghan's back as they took in the sight before them.

It was only a few seconds. Just a quick, short glimpse. But it was all it took, to shatter everything.

_No... _Meghan thought. _Please...not you..._

**Yes. The first integration of a song. And yes, I used _Look After You_ by The Fray, though not the entire song. Also, I do not own it, if for some reason it seems like I do - I do NOT. I hope it fits well...songfics are hard to do. And I know it wasn't around in 2003, when the story is set. But I felt it was a good song for the scene, so I'm pretending it _was_ around five years ago.**

**Anyway,all for now. Expect more next Friday or Saturday. **

**I'm out yo**

**-rf-**


	54. The Heartbreak

**At last! Haza (in the words of Merv)! The wait is over! My apologies, it is with my deepest regret that I forced you to wait this long, however my mind has been CHAOS lately. Argh. But here I am, with two full chapters.**

**Emy: SORRY!! :( But here they are!**

**Shiny Temptation: Again, SORRY!! Oh, but I like the new name. Shiny things rule. Glad you liked 53, writing it was like doing surgery on myself. You may be on to something about C and A, and I agree, Meghan is being a lil selfish - as is intended for this stage of the story. It's a fault of hers - Meghan is NO MarySue! And I hope these chapters are juicy enough for you. I suspect they will be.**

**Mari324: Thanx! 53's one of my favs too. I hope your need will FINALLY be satisfied. :)**

**Mrs.Scott323: Gosh, I hope I haven't lost you! :( Glad you liked the song. And believe me, I know how schoolwork goes. :P**

**peculiarjuliar: Wow! SO happy you like my story! And I love suspense, sarcasm, and wit - glad I've been able to convey those things through my writing. Hope you'll read more! :)**

**From now on, if it isn't minded, methinks I'll answer reviews privately - everyone might like it better that way - unless someone brings something up that I feel should be publicly addressed. I promise to answer them all!**

**Enough of my blathering...only, I warn you all...you should brace yourselves...**

It was as if all of her feelings had been shut off. Numbed. Made non-existent. And only one feeling surfaced and grew, burning in her soul more than it ever had before, taking hold and wrenching her: hopelessness.

This couldn't be happening. So many others had gone against her, turning their backs or trying to bring her down for reasons that were invalid or untrue. The blonde witch and her conniving grandfather had always been preparing her death bed, their hot, sickening breath hanging over her whenever she was in their presence. And then there had been Faye, not to mention her vengeful friends, who had crushed her with the friendships they withdrew from right under her - almost crushing Daphne in the process.

But there was one person she'd thought would always protect and defend her, would never leave her side no matter what circumstances hurled themselves at them. She'd had doubts, and he'd calmed them, telling her not to worry about rubbish like that. And he'd made her believe that she was more important to him than anything else in his world. A world she thought he'd wanted to reject.

But right now, right in front of her, he was accepting it with open arms. And every doubt that she had ever had was confirmed. For Meghan had just witnessed the most horrible thing imaginable:

Her love, eyes closed, his lips locked with those of Clarissa Payne's.

_Not you...Luke._

Only a short, labored cry managed to escape from within her before she took her eyes away. She was wracked with so much grave intensity that for a few moments she was stock still, standing and hazily shaking her head, trying to process what was going on. Meghan vaguely felt a warm hand that had been on her back as it moved to her arm, gently gripping it as it shook slightly.

Then, she acted.

Everything was in slow motion as Meghan tore away from Henry's grip and ran, crashing through the crowds in a dead sprint toward the door. Her mind caught shreds of outbursts from various people as her feet hit the ground, and she willed her legs to move faster, to no avail. They were gelatin, treading through a sea of chocolate pudding. She reached her aimed destination, that doorway that led to who knew and who cared where. And as she sped through, one loud, booming voice rang out, clear as it broke through the swirling noise.

"MEGHAN!"

That was the signal. The gunshot that started the race. And everything shifted from grinding fog to some kind of frantic clarity - the fast-forward button had been hit. Meghan's run had started as something she'd merely grasped at, not knowing what else to do. But now, it became her mission.

She would not let him get to her. She would not let anyone stop her from running far, far away.

"Meghan, WAIT!" she heard again, and she knew she would be pursued. But Meghan ran faster.

She was running down a long, carpeted hallway. The voices in the ballroom grew more and more distant as she reached the end of said hallway, where it veered off in two directions. Meghan chose to go right, hoping that would somehow lead to a way out.

She willed more speed to go to her legs, wishing she could take off her impudent heels but knowing she wouldn't have time. They hurt Meghan's feet and threatened to twist as they pounded the age-old floor. Late tears started rolling down her cheeks as she began to sob.

"Meghan!" she heard once more, more distant now. She was making headway, and satisfying that raw desire to leave the one who'd stabbed her far behind. Meghan turned another corner, now in full-blown, wet despair. Another corner. And soon, she came upon the giant doors she'd previously come through, shoving one open with all of her strength.

Instantly, her presence was made known to about ten unwitting reporters and their camerapersons, who had turned away from the mansion as they made their subtle, post-guest arrival banters on film. Also taken by surprise were the lingering paparazzi, who immediately grabbed their cameras and frantically flashed snapshots of the hot mess of a girl who'd just burst out of the building.

Meghan briefly noticed the flashes as she ran, and braced herself, bending her head as she made herself go even faster. She'd taken on these things, for him. And now, he was gone - but those wretched, despicable cameras were still there. Her private anonymity was already long gone, and would never return.

The tremendously huge iron gates in front of the mansion were still open. Meghan bolted through them. One news station had decided to set up camp right outside, and Meghan barely managed to dodge a reporter who lunged at her from the left as she cleared the exit. She ran in the opposite direction, right, with no intention of stopping.

Her eyes were so filled with tears that she could barely see. She blinked, and was able to catch sight of unsuspecting stranger just before slamming into them. The tears raced down her face and fell everywhere - down her neck, or onto her dress, or clear to the ground. Meghan's breathing was labored as she took in huge, heaving breaths to supplement the acts of crying and of running. Her heart pounded in her throat, almost unable to keep up with its stressors. Meghan rounded another corner.

_So this is what it's like._ Meghan thought. _To be heartbroken. _

All of those well-known sights of London blazed past her, seemingly telling her to go, get out, and never come back. Everything, and everyone, was mocking her. She considered shouting back at them, that they had no right, that they didn't know her. But perhaps they did. Perhaps everyone in this entire world knew that she was a low class, sewer-sprung, good for nothing, deformed-looking, rebellious liar that didn't deserve to be loved by anyone of the male persuasion. Not a friend. Not a boyfriend. Not even a father.

No, she only deserved to have to spend the days of her life filling the milk bowls of a thousand hungry cats as they graced every square foot of the stuffy, lint-filled, decrepit old barn she'd live in. In Idaho.

Meghan only barely noticed that she'd somehow ended up in a place that seemed familiar to her. She began to slow down, and looked behind her. She saw only strangers. Luke had not followed her.

Seeing this, Meghan decided that, at least for a few seconds, she needed to stop. She did so, right in front of a dark, abandoned cafe. Meghan looked up at the sign that read, _"The Crystal Spoon"_, and then just stood there, staring up at it and still sobbing. It just. Was not. Fair. Clarissa had ruined everything - but only because, Meghan realized, she'd allowed her to. If she'd just told Henry the truth, this could've all been averted. Clarissa would not have been able to hold a candle to her. Faye would still be happy. The Crystal Spoon would still be in business. Certainly, her silver locket would've been returned to her.

And Luke...well, she just didn't know about Luke. She knew nothing about Luke. He didn't love her.

_He doesn't love me._ What a dagger that was, and a sharp one. And she'd left so many wounds open, ready for him to ram it through. So, he'd done it. He'd made her think that he was there for her, forever. But he'd been helping Clarissa the whole time.

Maybe she knew! Maybe Clarissa knew her secret. Maybe she and Luke had worked together to break Meghan, in the worst way possible, to keep it hidden. If so, they'd succeeded. They'd prevented her from telling Daphne's father the truth.

But not for long, Meghan decided. She'd go to him the first chance she got, and end the silence once and for all. Oh, she'd be back. With a vengeance. But it couldn't be now.

Meghan couldn't bear to look at the cafe any longer. In a second, she was running again, letting her feet guide her wherever they intended to go.

**Fifteen minutes earlier...**

Luke felt as if he were washing away in some dream. Everything he heard was slow and syrupy, running a race to plug up his ears. He wasn't even sure if he were still standing up, or if he were just floating there. He felt as if the floor was slowly flipping over, turning him upside down, and it felt as if he were standing on the ceiling. All he had to hold on to was his love, Meghan, who had let him fall into her, pressing her lips against his.

Wait...was that someone shouting?

Luke thought he'd heard an outburst...then another...but it had melted away somehow, washing down his consciousness. He heard even more noise, and wondered what all the fuss was about. And then, vaguely, he heard something flow out in Meghan's voice. It sounded sort of...distant. And pained. It was strange.

Why had everything fallen silent all of a sudden? Was he in a dream? He shouldn't be asleep. He couldn't remember going home, or to bed. Hadn't he intended to go with Meghan, to tell Lord Dashwood...something? What was he doing now? All he felt was her mouth on his, her shoulder in his hand, her perfume...which suddenly didn't smell very nice. It was rather overbearing. It made him open his eyes.

What? All the lights were on! Why was this, and why was everything such a blur? He looked down to Meghan's neck. Around it hung her silver locket. When had she put that on? Had he missed something, here?

And then, he saw it. A curled lock of hair, hanging over his eye. It wasn't brown. It was blonde.

"Lucas!" he heard, plain and clear, in a voice he recognized. "Have you lost your damn mind?!"

Lord Dashwood.

Luke tore away from the one he was kissing, struggling to obtain his focus. His hand flew to his head, and he closed his eyes, trying to get them working right again. The other hand stayed on the girl, gripping her shoulder as he almost tumbled, swaying side to side. But she stood up straight. She was like a rock.

Luke opened his eyes, and looked at her. She was not Meghan.

Panic instantly washed over him. His eyes darted around, frantically, until he caught a glimpse of cream-colored organza as it sped out the door.

"MEGHAN!" he shouted, letting go of the other girl at once, almost stumbling again. He gasped for breath, shook his head manically, and started forward.

"Lucas, wait!" cried a honey-coated, vile voice. He felt a hand grab his arm. Luke whirled around fiercely to face the girl, whom he now identified as being Clarissa.

"You!" he spat, enraged. He grabbed the necklace that adorned the witch's neck, ripping it off and throwing it across the room. "Get the hell away from me!" he roared, pushing her several feet away and starting again after Meghan. He willed himself with all he could to be focused, be clear, be in control of his body. Everything he saw wavered in pairs, threatening to separate even more. Nevertheless, he pushed forward, and began to run.

"Meghan, WAIT!" he shouted again. Luke pushed through the crowds and flew to the door - only to see her turn a corner at the end of the hall. He stopped a few feet through and lurched to the side, still incredibly dizzy and quickly becoming miserable with guilt and regret. Luke caught himself, and stood back up straight, just before nearly crashing to the ground.

He barely noticed when Alistair Payne shuffled up next to him.

"Don't worry." Luke heard him casually remark. "She'll be back, in another seventeen years or so."

The boy just stared straight ahead for a moment, registering what had been said. Then, he turned to face Alistair, eyes smoldering with fury. Luke positioned himself right in front of the bald buffoon, staring him straight in the face.

"I know what you did." Luke told him, his voice low and menacing. "And if Meghan doesn't expose you for the snake you truly are, then I will. I swear it."

It was then that Luke took something out of his pocket; something, unbeknownst to Meghan, that he had planned on showing Henry when they told him the truth. He now took that object and shoved it against Alistair's chest, before breaking into a run to try and reach the girl he'd betrayed.

"MEGHAN!" he shouted once again, not even sure if she heard him.

Meanwhile, Alistair's attention was now on the object, as it drifted to the floor. Picking it up and glancing at it, he saw that it was a note, with his initials at the bottom. And of course, he remembered it. Still, he only shrugged his shoulders, as he reentered the ballroom, joining its flabbergasted occupants. Alistair, though - he didn't consider himself too surprised.

Until he saw it.

It was just a little glint on the floor, in a far corner of the room. But for some reason, he felt inclined to walk over to it. After all, it could be something valuable that he could hawk for money.

Once there, he bent down to pick the thing up. On second thought, maybe it wasn't all that valuable. Though it _was_ jewelry, a locket to be exact, it looked to be made out of silver - with no precious gems whatsoever. Just as he was about to lose interest and drop the thing back to the floor, he turned the pendant over - and was intrigued once again.

_Meghan Reynolds._ Hmm.

Of course, there was only one thing to do next. Open the locket. Which would have been easy, if you were a teenage girl, with long nails. Alistair, however, was a bald old man with short, stubby ones. Needless to say, opening that silver object took a while, and he found it quite frustrating and agonizing.

But he did it. And he found that he couldn't quite drink in the images inside quick enough for his taste.

On one side, there was a picture of two people: a blonde-haired man and a brown-haired little girl. They looked to be roughhousing a bit, the man holding the girl tightly with a smile, her face in frozen laughter. Oh, how very very sweet and lovely.

The other image, however, was much more interesting to Alistair.

In this picture were four people, four women to be exact. Two of them late thirtyish, two of them preteen girls. The two older women stood side by side, each with their arms wrapped around the shoulders of a girl, and they all looked to be wearing simple dresses. On the left, an extremely dark-haired woman stood, arms resting on a girl who had the same hair but a different face. The girl's identity registered: it was a younger Meghan. Next to Meghan stood another girl, who looked to be about the same age. Her hair was a lighter brown, her face different from all three of them. Both her eyes and her smile, however, struck chords in Alistair's mind.

And then, he saw her.

Her arms were wrapped around the chestnut-haired girl, though the woman herself was blonde - possessing the exact same hair color as the man in the opposite picture. Her face was bright and beaming, and her dress was definitely more of a bohemian style, compared to the rest.

And instantly, Alistair knew. She was, unmistakably, Elizabeth Reynolds.

The necklace went in his pocket. His cell phone went to his ear. And Alistair went out the door.


	55. The Ambush

**Luke was speeding after Meghan** in the best way that he could - which was not very well. Twice, he'd almost run into a wall, and he was tripping about every twenty steps. Soon enough, he was blinded by camera flashes as he burst outside. Upon his running out through the front iron gates, a reporter came at his right side - he almost seemed to have been expecting him. At this, Luke abruptly turned left.

Through his warped, foggy vision, Luke saw nothing of the girl he pursued. He saw nothing else to do, however, but to press on and keep running.

"Meghan!" he called out about every thirty seconds. No answer. Despite his drastically out-of-sorts condition, Luke was beginning to feel the full intensity of what had just happened - and all of the guilt that came with it. With every second that passed, he became more frantic.

_What have I done?!_

He was not in love with Clarissa, and never in his _right_ mind would he have kissed her. But that kiss had happened, and regardless of the state his mind had been in, it had looked the same. How would he ever, _ever_ possibly justify this? How could he ever explain? He couldn't even explain it to himself.

Luke hadn't had any alcohol - there hadn't been any there, despite the fact that many of the students were eighteen; the legal drinking age. He hadn't hit his head, and he didn't come to the ball sick. Was it food poisoning, from the dinner they'd had? In that case, wouldn't it be happening to Meghan, as well? She'd eaten the same thing.

Could this kind of thing even be _caused_ by food poisoning? Luke didn't know. All he knew was that there was something seriously wrong with him, and he had no way of ever proving that to Meghan. If he ever found her.

He'd been running a while now, debating these horrific things, and had still caught no sight of Meghan. He was projecting his voice less and less with each call of her name, and his calls were now coming less often. Luke heard various shouts and yells from all different directions, coming from the people he kept almost running into. He was running out of breath, and losing what little focus he had.

There wasn't a hint in his mind, however, of the true spectacle he was making out of himself, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Then again, even if he did know what he looked like, he still wouldn't have cared. All he cared about was Meghan.

This, however, didn't stop a random store owner from dashing out of a nearby store and into the streets, grabbing one of Luke's arms and dragging him into the store. This was done in an effort to get him away from the screaming people, and any possible paparazzi clowns that could be lurking nearby. Luke resisted this at first, yelling and trying to yank his arm back. But he stumbled, and was thrown into a dizzy frenzy of colors that swirled before his eyes. With this, he gave up.

The store owner still had a grip on him, and pulled him toward the building and into the store without a further moment's delay. From there, he was led into a back room, where someone was setting up a cot at light speed. Luke was brought over to it, and told to lie down. Seeing no point in protesting and quickly losing consciousness besides, he did as he was told and collapsed onto the cot. Within a minute, he'd fallen into a deep sleep, as horrible, painful noises thrashed around in his mind.

He didn't know where he was, or even if he would wake up, for he lacked enough conscious thought to mull over either one of these things. But the thought of waking up without Meghan made him want to sleep forever.

**Before, Meghan had run** without any particular destination even touching the edge of her mind. Now, however, she'd thought of a place to aim for.

It wouldn't be the Winthrops' - Luke might find her there. It couldn't be Dashwood Manor - no one was there, and she couldn't bear to face them if they were. But there was one place, Meghan thought, she might be able to find some solace.

The park, behind Faye's house. Which was where she was now.

Meghan fast-walked down the cement pathway, still crying wet tears. She couldn't believe it - it had happened again. Another Reynolds had been heartbroken.

She came to a bench toward the middle of the park, and fell back into the seat, pressing her face into her hands. She continued to heave spasmatic, uneven breaths as she sobbed.

It was now that everything she'd been through in the past two months hit her with an iron fist. Her many run-ins with Clarissa. Her fewer but worse run-ins with Alistair. The media frenzies. The near-expulsions. The closing of the restaurant. Near humiliation of her cousin and everyone else, courtesy of Faye. And to top it all off, the fact that she STILL hadn't told Daphne's father the truth.

Meghan had no idea what was going on at that ball right now. No doubt, Clarissa was happy. She was willing to bet that Alistair was, too. But she had not the faintest clue what anyone else was feeling.

If Meghan had been back at the ball right then, as some sort of unseen invisible being, she would have known exactly how they felt. She would've seen Ian storm away in anger for the traitor he'd discovered his friend to be. She would've seen Faye's friends, shaking their heads in disbelief and frustration at the sight of yet another win by Clarissa, this one monumental. She would've seen Clarissa herself, half-triumphant and half-confused, saunter off to the powder room, followed by her infamous groupies. She would've seen Jocelyn, utterly bewildered to the point of no return, stare blankly in shock as she sat, on the verge of tears. And she would've seen Jocelyn's flabbergasted son, seated nearby with his face in his hands and more empathy for Meghan than anyone else in the room.

But Meghan knew of none of these things. All she felt was the pain that overtook her. How would she ever, _ever_ trust anyone outside of her family ever again? Her trust had been mutilated.

She gently rubbed her finger over a tear that had fallen on her dress, wiping it away. Again, Meghan was convinced - she'd never belonged in that dress. Maybe it would disappear at midnight.

After many, many descriptions of Meghan's thoughts, by Meghan herself and by me, the omnipresent narrator, it may seem only obvious to at this particular point in the story to once again further outline her every grievous thought in excruciating detail. However, such a description shall this time be suspended beyond this point, due to special circumstances that include: dramatically elevated levels of emotion that seem beyond words, feelings that can be better described by further action rather than further thought, a need to proceed to other events, and cough, this writer's inadequacy to do Meghan's feelings justice, cough.

Only this will be said: now, she had the whole picture. The whole picture of what her aunt felt. And she understood, she truly did.

**On that same dark night,** at that very same time, a young girl with loose, messy braids wandered into the park, her hands crammed in her pockets. Like Meghan, she hoped to find peace, and something to occupy her shadowy thoughts.

Faye, of course, hadn't attended the ball. She'd felt that she lacked the courage, and didn't have an interest in going. She'd wanted it once, believe it or not - she'd wanted the mingling with her friends, the sparkly dresses, the handsome Morris boys. But that had been a long time ago. Over a month. Faye was now a changed woman.

Oh sure, her mother had protested. Even her father, to a point. They told her not to let the demise of the restaurant ruin a lovely night of much-deserved dancing and celebrating in the midst of her very last year at Jasperstone Academy. But they didn't know what had truly caused the closing of the Spoon, and they didn't know about what she'd done to Meghan, what a horrible person she was.

Honestly, it had truly shocked Faye to first learn Meghan's secret. That this _cousin_ of hers was the daughter of...Henry Dashwood?! Impossible! The two people concerned lived _thousands of miles apart!_ But there had been a birth certificate, legal documentation. Somehow, the circumstances were true.

Faye wasn't exactly sure why it had affected her so much. Meghan was a wonderful person, and Faye had loved having her around, right from the very start. But somehow, what she'd read had just wracked her entire body and shook her mind. She'd discovered, right after reading that document, just why Meghan had sought to remain under Clarissa's control.

Maybe she'd been angered, at the idea that Meghan could bring Clarissa down in an instant, but never bothered. That she'd let the taunting go on and on, with Faye often at the wrong end of it.

Or maybe it had just been the complete and utter surprise. It was a feeling Faye didn't experience too often. Or _hadn't_ experienced, until Meghan came around.

Either way, that white envelope had started Faye's downward spiral, and she'd only gone further down from there. The suspension, then the restaurant, then Clarissa's admittance to being behind it, accented by the constant taunting and Meghan's frequent romps with Mr. Brenshire, all contributed to the killing of Faye's spirit. Though in truth, her spiteful friends really hadn't helped, either. They were more focused on being against people than they were on trying to comfort those who were sad.

Thus, Faye was still very, very sad. Not to mention possessing a guilty conscience. And right now, as she shuffled along in the dark, all she could wish was to have her life back. All seemed dreary now. It seemed most everyone in the world was as miserable as she was, for some reason or another.

A bit of a cold breeze took up some loose wisps of Faye's hair as she glanced up at her surroundings. And to her surprise, she saw the very person she'd been thinking about, sitting on a bench, crying in her beautiful dress. Her back was turned.

Faye stopped dead in her tracks. She wasn't quite sure what to do. The urge to go and comfort the girl arose, but was held back by some persistent twinge that told Faye, no, stay where you are.

So, she stayed. Staring, at the girl who sobbed some distance away. And some time passed, seeming longer to Faye than it did to the rest of the world. Some seconds, a minute maybe.

Then, he came.

From another direction, a figure came trouncing. Immediately, Faye darted behind a tree and some brush - the way the man moved had set off an impulse. His steps were strong and determined. His face was cold and fierce.

Faye peeked ever-so-slightly, watching the newcomer as he acted. She saw that he was headed straight for Meghan. A closer look. Her eyes went narrow and squinted. She saw that the man was Alistair Payne.

The man's actions were swift. He'd soon grabbed Meghan's arm, growling at her as he did so. Faye saw the girl's head snap up in alarm, her face ridden with tears. A nearby lamp shone on her cream colored dress as it swished about in Meghan's mad attempt to wrench her arm free.

"Don't bother, girl! For I see it now. You are Elizabeth's _niece, _aren't you?!" Alistair shouted maniacally to high heaven.

Shock and anger overcame the struggling one, but she said nothing, only moaning and pulling harder away from him. But his grasp was like stone. And it only grew tighter.

"Let me go!"

"You're coming with me. I've got a plane waiting! Aren't you happy?! You're going home!"

The man grabbed Meghan's other shoulder, gaining greater control as she continued to struggle. He took a step, pulling her in the same direction. Meghan screamed.

"S-settle down now. Time to make use of Lord Dashwood's private jet. Cheer up my dear. You're going fast, and in style. You should feel - honored..."

Meghan shrieked louder. This caused Alistair to slap a hand over her mouth, to muffle her voice. But Faye had already heard.

"Insolent child!" Alistair shouted at Meghan. "I will _not _have him knowing of that illegitimate _thing_ your aunt has spawned!"

Slowly, Alistair worked to drag Meghan along, taking huge, firm steps. He growled other words in Meghan's ear that Faye couldn't make out, and these words seemed to make his hostage more cooperative. He was then able to lead her off, hand still plastered over her mouth, as if she were a hardened criminal who'd just been arrested.

And then, only Faye was left. To decide what next should happen.

She decided. Faye looked around at the trees, at the glowing lamps, at the bench from which someone had just been kidnapped. She looked down at the ground, rubbing her forehead. She took a deep breath.

And then, she acted.

**Hope those were interesting chapters...and don't fret. I'm NOT going to drag things out again like you may think. The story does eventually end, though not for awhile. There's plenty left, but things are definitely shifting now. Secrets will be revealed. As for Meg and Luke...well, you'll just have to see where I take them. Hope you're not too sad. Who knows? Maybe you're all shipping for Meghan/Anthony or Meghan/John or dare I say it? Meghan/Armistead?! **

**Only if you ARE shipping for those couples...well, don't get your hopes up. :P And don't even THINK about Meghan/Ian. NEVER!! BLASPHEMY!!**

**Next two soon - I MEAN IT, some is already written - and I promise some comedic relief. I need some myself.**

**-rf-**


	56. The Revelation

**SURPRISE!! I'm back! Ha, yeah, I saw you walking by this really big pine tree! Bet you didn't expect me to jump out from behind it! BLAAHHHHH!! :D**

**And I jump out wielding two new chapters! trust me, you'll get over your anger for my startling you pretty quick. Cuz this here's some juicy stuff. Ooh, I'm excited for these reactions...**

**Thanks again to all who reviewed! I replied to everybody! Hope my replies were entertaining. :)**

**Christine Writer, have that net ready! And has your friend got the goods? We're taking Alistair down!**

No one could see _in,_ through the deeply tinted windows - but Meghan could see _out._ Out at the bright lights of London, as they sped by. And with deep remorse, she was taking those lights in - it could very well be the last time she'd ever see them.

Meghan's eyes were, therefore, fixated on looking out the window, her head turned determinedly away from the individual sitting next to her. It was hard to believe that instead of enjoying the dance with Luke by her side, she was on her way to a small airport, where a plane was waiting to take her back to New York.

And who had arranged this, and was not to mention seated right near her, giving her the evil eye at that very moment? Why, it was none other than Alistair, who'd sent an American away once before and whom obviously wasn't afraid to do it again.

It was extremely hard to keep the tears from running down her face, to keep from giving Alistair that satisfaction. Meghan was close to just throwing pride to the wind, and giving in - after all, she'd lost everything else. But still, she held back.

The pain of leaving London was immense, as was the pain of Luke's betrayal. But worst of all was that now, she'd have to look Daphne in the eyes and tell her that she'd failed. That she'd broken her promise. And Meghan would be blaming herself for Daphne's pain for the rest of her life.

However...there was _one_ other person who could share the blame. And as Meghan slowly felt the pull of anger joining her sadness, growing ever intense and gripping her thoughts, she realized something. This was her chance. She had nothing to lose. Alistair was sitting right next to her, and he had nowhere to go until she was strapped inside that plane.

And if she left with nothing else, she would leave with the satisfaction of having spoken, having taken a stand against this monster. For whatever it was worth, she was going to let him know the pain he'd caused. Right now.

"Why?" she said simply, using all of her resolve to turn and face him. She gritted her teeth inside her mouth.

Alistair seemed confused.

"Why what?"

"Why are you so evil?"

He seemed to ponder this.

"I'm afraid I don't quite follow."

"No. Don't give me that crap. You very well know what I'm talking about."

He stared, indifferent.

"Then pray tell, Miss Reynolds - what exactly have I done that is so...evil, as you put it?"

"That's how I put it because that's what it is!" she snarled. "YOU are the one who tortured my aunt. YOU are the one who made her heart break, and caused her to break someone else's. And YOU are the one who is forcing an innocent girl to live in misery!"

"Hmph." Alistair huffed. "I hardly call you _innocent._"

"I'm not talking about me." Meghan replied, her voice low and furious. "I'm talking about Daphne."

A pause.

"Who the devil is - oh, yes. Quite right."

"THAT'S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?!"

Alistair glared.

"You will not speak to me in that tone."

"The hell I won't. I don't care what you do to me. If it concerns my cousin, I'll sass however I feel like, however much I feel like, to whosoever I feel like sassing to!"

"Your sassing is digging yourself a very deep grave."

"Throw me in the grave. Bury me in manure. At this point, I really don't care. But who will be mourning when your reign of terror comes crashing down?"

"I warn you, Miss Reynolds - just as I warned you in the park. Tread further, and you'll be filled with deep regret, as you watch your entire family go down in the flames of shameful exploitation. It would be very responsible of you not to say even one more word."

A chord was struck in Meghan's mind, at the word "responsible".

_"So I need you to promise something. Promise us you'll be responsible, in everything you do." _

_"I promise, Aunt Libby."_

And Meghan faltered. She'd been more than ready to spit out another smoldering insult, but maybe...maybe it just wasn't worth it. At least there'd be one promise she hadn't broken.

Meghan's eyes went back to the window, as tears pooled up inside them. Alistair, among so many other things, had her in bondage...it just couldn't be. She couldn't be leaving _now._ It couldn't be. _No!_

But it was. And the pain of it was killing her. Only once before...only once before had she ever felt this unbearably low.

The car pulled to a stop, further cementing the grim reality. A longer distance, a few more miles - was that too much to ask for?

Apparently so. The driver killed the engine and stepped out of the car, shuffling to Meghan's door. But he didn't open it yet.

"Someone will be sent to your host family to tell them the news, and to retrieve your possessions. Those residing there will be told that unfortunately, a family emergency has arisen and that, with deep regret, you were forced to fly back to New York to be in their presence. The school will be informed of the same circumstance. And be assured, Miss Reynolds, that any threats made earlier will still remain valid, should any word somehow reach England of the events that took place this night."

With this, Alistair reached into the pocket of his coat.

"I believe _this_ is yours." he stated, plunking the locket, still open, in Meghan's hand. "And in closing, I can only say, good luck to you. It was lovely to make your acquaintance. Farewell."

He signaled to the driver who stood outside, and Meghan's door opened. She stepped out to be greeted with the sight of a small jet plane, ready and waiting for her to board. Bright lights on the runway and the side of the plane shone in the dark, cold night. The wind kicked up her hair, as it had before, but conveyed a different feeling as it did so. Before, it had meant adventure. Now, it meant that the country was rejecting her, trying to blow her away.

But it wouldn't have to do so. Slowly, Meghan made her way over to the plane, gripping the locket tightly and hugging her cold shoulders. This was it, it was happening, and here was the proof. She had been so close, but now, it was over.

Mounting the small rollaway steps that would take her up into the aircraft, Meghan took one last look. Her last look at London - and it was just a barren runway. But it would have to do. She said a silent goodbye, and turned away. And after a few deliberate steps upward, she was inside, and out of the horrid man's sight. There was no longer a reason to hold back. Meghan took her release, falling backwards into a heavily cushioned seat.

And down came her tears.

**Faye hadn't felt this much energy** blaze through her in quite a long time.

And where was she now? At the family home, having just burst in the door. She rushed into the sitting room, where her mother sat reading a book. Emma looked up, slightly alarmed at Faye's manner of approach.

"Faye...dearie, what's wrong?"

"I need you to drive me to Everston Mansion."

A confused look swept over Emma's face.

"To the ball? _Now?_"

"Yes, but I'm not going there to dance."

"Faye, I'm afraid that is out of the question."

The girl was frozen for a moment.

"Mother, I'm sorry, but it is _imperative_ that I be at that mansion within the next fifteen minutes. It's an emergency -"

"Well, then, tell me what your emergency is, and I just might consider it."

Again, Faye was struck unsure.

"Something's happened to Meghan. I can't _tell_ you anything else. Please, Mum, take me before it's too late!"

Mrs. Winthrop was very befuddled as to how Faye's going to the mansion had anything to do with helping Meghan. But she decided to submit to trusting her daughter this time, without more information, just this once. After all, some good must come out of it - she hadn't seen Faye this animated in over a month.

"Aye, Faye, get in the car."

They sped as fast as legally possible, blazing down the London streets that led to the dance of the year. It took longer than Faye would've liked for them to finally pull up in front of the huge, ornate building, parking behind a dormant news van.

Faye had her seatbelt off and was opening the door before the car had even completely stopped. She stepped outside immediately, not without protest from her mother, and dashed around the van and through the huge gates.

Now, if Faye had been back to her normal, cheery, fashion-conscious self, she would've been a little more concerned about the prospect of running past a bunch of cameramen, and then into a fancy ball, dressed in only a t-shirt and pants with a brown coat and messy braided hair. But for now, she'd leave her embarrassment on the back burner.

Much to the bewilderment of everyone who saw her, she rushed inside the palace with determination. She wasn't ABOUT to let Meghan down again.

**Henry's face was** glued to the palms of his hands, still jilted profusely at having just witnessed Meghan's heart breaking. He was amazed at how much it bothered him - it was quite clear to him now: he'd truly cared about her.

The thing was, however - he'd also cared about Luke, to an extent. And Luke had been the last person he'd ever expected would succumb to such betrayal and cruelty. And with Clarissa, nonetheless! (And she was to be his _stepdaughter?!_)

Officially and in the eyes of the public, Henry's "close friend" bearing the surname Brenshire was Lucas' father, Lord Matthew. But actually, that couldn't have been farther from the truth. The man was a drunkard! And Henry had felt more of a closeness to Luke than to _anyone_ in the Brenshire family - he'd felt rather like an uncle to him. This being despite the fact that for generations, Dashwood fathers had been friends with Brenshire fathers, and the same arrangement was made for their sons.

But then, Henry didn't have a son. And he'd never been that close to Matthew anyway - the chap had always been sort of snobbish. Therefore, he'd later been better acquainted with Luke, who'd seemed a bit like a younger version of himself. Open-minded...gentle but angsty...a bit rebellious of his way of life...the similarities were undeniable.

But this! For the boy to just _turn_ on Meghan, after pining after her for so much and to such a high degree, then later showing what had in every way looked to be genuine affection?! Henry could hardly bear the thought. She was such a lovely girl! And to receive this kind of treatment...why, he could think of no one less deserving of such wretched foolishness on the part of someone who supposedly loved her.

The girl had been stabbed in the back, quite truthfully. And all because she _dared_ to break the social boundaries and fall in love with an individual who would traditionally be out of her reach due to his status. She'd _dared_ to love someone who'd traditionally be expected to ignore her. Such an offense was this! Oh, the sheer indecency!

And it had been _Meghan_ who'd had reservations in the first place. But she'd eventually let her guard down and trusted the lad - for THIS?! Oh, how it angered and disappointed Henry. It seemed that because she was of a lower class, and heaven forbid, American, she was considered vermin and had no emotion. No feelings that could be hurt so tremendously by the rejection of her aristocratic love.

Oh no. Sod it. No. He'd gone there again. His throat tightened as he looked up, trying to clear his head -

Only to see a strange blonde girl rushing toward him.

But it was a distraction, at least. Or so he thought.

The girl, who was by no means dressed for a ball, stopped when she reached him, trying to catch her breath. He watched her for a few seconds as she bent over, huffing, before she finally stood up straight as a rod and started to speak.

"I hope that you'll pardon me, Your Lordship." she began. "My name is Faye Winthrop, and I'm afraid I have some very urgent news that bears your concern."

Though perplexed, Henry gave her his full attention.

"Pleasure to meet you...Miss Winthrop." he said politely, holding out his hand in greeting. She took it briefly and seemed to blush a little before going on.

"And you as well. However, I feel it is extremely necessary to bring this matter to your attention. It concerns someone to whom I am a host sister. An American exchange student named Meghan Reynolds."

At this, Henry nodded, trying to conceal emotion in the businesslike manner he'd grown used to taking on.

"Yes, I've met the girl and am familiar with her. Is she faring well?"

The grave look on the stranger's face grew worse.

"Actually, I'm afraid not. I only just witnessed her being dragged off, by a man who has the intention of putting her on one of _your_ planes, setting it for New York."

Henry was dumbfounded at this, and half of him felt inclined to take this as some sort of joke.

"Erm...Miss, I don't think I understood you correctly."

The girl's face remained serious.

"Sir, I realize this may seem hard to believe, but what I am saying is quite true. And the man

who ambushed her was quite adamant that _you_, specifically, were to remain uninformed of the situation. Furthermore, the man I speak of was none other than Alistair Payne."

The disbelief that Henry had possessed before only grew now.

"I'm sorry, Miss Winthrop, but what you are saying is absurd."

"But you must believe me!" the flustered teenager cried, stealing a glance at Jocelyn, who sat behind her son watching the entire thing. The woman seemed to be studying her. Faye turned back to Henry, and made a decision.

"Your advisor kidnapped Meghan because he didn't want you to know the truth about her." she stated.

Henry's interest began to wander back, though only slightly.

"What?"

"Your Lordship, what I am saying is true. There is something about Meghan that Mr. Payne is doing everything in his power to conceal from you."

The Englishman looked at her, incredulously.

"Alistair Wellington Payne is a trusted employee of mine, and has been for years. I'm afraid you must be very mistaken, and should therefore take your case elsewhere, for I myself am not having the best of nights."

"Please, sir. You must listen. Meghan is at this very moment being put on your private jet, and it will take her out of England."

"There is no one in this country that would have any reason to take Miss Reynolds, nor to send her away, nor to conceal the entire matter from myself. I am not in any way a part of her personal life. Now, I think the wisest thing for you to do would be to - "

"Are you familiar with a woman named Elizabeth Anne Reynolds?"

Henry stopped dead midsentence. He was now frozen in his gaze upon Faye, who herself was already faltering.

"I - I'm sorry, I hope you will pardon my asking so."

She still received no response. Silence hung in the air as Faye grew ever more anxious. Once more, she pressed forward.

"I did not mean to be rude. But you might like to know - the woman I just mentioned...she is Meghan's aunt."

For a good thirty seconds more, the blonde girl and the brown-haired aristocrat stared at each other, neither one able to say a word. Henry's eyes were frozen and dumbstruck, while Faye's were pleading and slightly fearful.

And then, decisively, Henry gave Faye a quick, stiff nod of comprehension. He seemed a bit sheepish as he took out his cellular phone.

"Yes...George? C-Can you...give me the current status of...the jets, please?"


	57. The Chapter That Involves The Most Food

**So here I was.** At Farrell's, the local grocery store in Chinatown. That's right. Not everything in Chinatown is owned by Chinese people or has a Chinese name. Hopefully, you already knew that.

Me, I was confused. See, I was walking around in the produce section, carrying one of those little baskets, along with a list from my mom. Looking in the basket, I saw that I had already obtained a jar of mayonnaise, some yogurt, and a TV Dinner. According to the list, I now only needed bananas, marshmallow fluff, detergent, tea cookies, and a pack of Slim Fast.

But you see, no one in my family even drinks Slim Fast. Or ever would.

Anyway, I was pretty sure I would find bananas in the produce section. I was wondering what my mom planned to do with them, along with the mayo, the yogurt, and the fluff. Whatever it was, it sounded nauseating.

For some reason, I couldn't find them. Maybe it was too early in the year for them...or too late in the year...but...didn't they _always_ have bananas? I mean, don't they just raise the price if they're out of season? Are bananas _ever_ out of season? Can bananas maybe be synthetically created when they are? I wouldn't be surprised. Why was I thinking so deeply about this?

And then, I saw someone over near the watermelon bin, knocking on each watermelon to test their freshness or ripeness or whatever. It was Henry Dashwood! It was weird how easily and clearly I recognized him, considering I'd only seen him once. On TV. For about sixty seconds.

Hey - how did he know that trick with the watermelons?

Suddenly, he looked up, and saw me. He smiled a little bit.

"Excuse me, Miss." he said. "Would you mind coming over here and listening to a few of these? I'm trying to find the hollowest one."

"Okay." I said, walking over to him. This was nice. Although I wasn't

what I'd call a great watermelon judge.

I listened as he knocked on a few different ones. He seemed to be in deep concentration.

"I'm thinking this one would be best." he said, demonstrating once more how "hollow" that one was.

"Then you should get it." I told him with a smile. See? I always knew it would be easy to talk to him.

He grinned, grabbed the watermelon, and dropped it into his cart. This made a loud noise.

"Should I get another one?" Henry quipped. He began to rub his chin.

We both stood there for a minute as he pondered whether or not he should get another one.

"Libby Reynolds is my aunt." I told him.

His eyes drifted from the watermelons and focused on me. A thoughtful look came over his face.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"Well. That's quite a thing, isn't it? How is she these days?"

"She still loves you."

"Really. My, that's lovely. What now then. Oh! Why, I saw some exquisite jewelry at the front of the store. What say we buy her some?"

"Uh, they don't sell jewelry here." I said. Why on Earth would they sell jewelry in a grocery store? Geez.

"Oh. Bother. Well, never mind that. I'll just give her some of my watermelon."

"Aunt Libby hates watermelon."

"DAPHNE!!" I heard, out of nowhere. What? Daphne was here? I looked around for the person who called her name.

"Hey, DAPHNE!" I heard again. I looked up to see a girl perched on top of a ladder, stacking cans of chili into a huge pyramid. And...hey, wait a minute...the girl looked and sounded a lot like...me!

"Look at me, Daphne! Look how high I am!" the girl called, looking straight down at me.

What?! Why was she calling me Daphne? Why was I down here, and yet, up there? Why was I wearing Daphne's fuzzy orange sweater? WHY WAS THERE CHILI IN THE PRODUCE SECTION?!

"Oh, so your name is Daphne?" Henry asked. "Nice to meet you, Daphne!"

"My name isn't Daphne! It's Meghan!"

"YOU'RE FIRED!" came a loud, feminine voice. Jocelyn Dashwood immediately exploded out of a pile of oranges, decked out in a New York Giants jersey and waving a pennant of the same team, her other hand covered by a foam finger. "Ha, I love that guy Ronald Rump."

"Rump" had been the only thing she'd said that sounded remotely British, as the entire extent of her outburst had been in a Brooklyn-style accent.

"Lady Dashwood?" I said, startled. Wait, how did I know who this person was, anyway? After all, I'd never seen her before.

"Daphne! Grandbaby! C'mere! Give Grammy D a hug."

Grammy D? That sounded kinda like a McDonald's burger. Like, _Come try our new 99 cent Grammy D! Made fresh to order with or without the bun!_

"I'm not Daphne! She is!" pointing to the other me, stationed at the top of Mount Beans and Meat. Sure enough, the Meghan clone had been replaced by Daphne, who continued to gingerly stack cans onto the precarious pyramid.

"I should think a nap would be in order right about now." Henry muttered at random.

"Eh! Can someone help me outta this pile'a oranges?" Jocelyn inquired, now sounding as if she came from Staten Island.

I helped her out of the pile of oranges.

"That's better." she said, dusting herself off as she stood. "Are we goin' to the game, or what?"

"Ooh, I wanna go, Grandma!" Daphne shouted from above.

"'Course you can go, sweetie. But why'dja call me Grandma?"

"'Cuz you're my grandma."

"WHAT?!" Jocelyn turned to face me. "Who're _YOU,_ then?"

"My name would be Meghan, for the millionth time." I told her. "Or

at least, I _think_ the millionth time. But I haven't been counting."

"Excuse me." came yet another voice. It was Ian, pushing one of those wide mop thingies. He wanted to mop where we were standing, seemingly oblivious to the myriad of oranges that had fallen everywhere.

"Hey, you're hot." Daphne told him from her perch.

"Thanks, so are you." he replied. "I said, EXCUSE ME!"

"Where are all these British people coming from?" Henry asked me. "It's as if, they're like, taking over the country or something."

"What did you just say, pal?" Ian challenged him, with an edge in his voice. By the way, who was this Ian person, anyway?

"Wanker!"

"So are you!"

"I feel like a microwave burrito." commented Daphne. She began to dismount the ladder, almost toppling the mass of chili in the process.

"So what y'all are meanin' to say is, yer not my grandbaby, and yer just a dirty liar who's been foolin' me all along?" Jocelyn asked me, in full-on Texas drawl.

"Uh..."

I suddenly heard the sound of someone crying. I turned to see that it was Aunt Libby, sobbing over a sack of potatoes that'd been torn open. She seemed positively devastated as she cradled a potato in her hand. Faye, whose very existence I knew nothing about, was crying with her.

"That's rot." Ian surmised, staring at them.

"You're dang right it's rot! My aunt's crying, you idiot!"

"No, I mean, the potato. It's rotten."

"Well, seein' as she's a dirty liar, I reckon we all form an angry mob

and surround her, and then, we beat her with sticks."

"I reckon so." Daphne giggled. "Go Grandma!"

"Darn right."

"Daphne!" I cried, on the verge of tears. "You can't mean that!"

"Dirty liar! Dirty liar!" Jocelyn began chanting.

"No! I'm not a liar!" I shouted. Why was she calling me a liar? I'd never even met the woman!

"Dirty liar! Dirty liar!" Ian and Henry barked with Jocelyn. Faye and Aunt Libby, apparently just now noticing the goings-on behind them, turned cold, desolate eyes on me. Then, Faye broke away, and joined everyone else, going from despair to anger in three seconds.

"Liar! Liar!" Daphne, who'd just gotten to the ground, was the last to join the chant.

"Daphne." I pleaded. "Please. Don't do this."

She didn't seem to hear. Daphne, along with Sports Fanatic Jocelyn, Ian the Janitor, and Henry the Watermelon Monger turned Homeland Security Advisor, grabbed a flaming torch out of nowhere, proceeding to set the avocados on fire for no particular reason. Then the whole lot of them, with their flaming torches and flaming foam finger, all started a slow advance toward me, chanting all the while. Everyone else in the store dropped whatever it was they were doing and got in on the action, shouting in unison with everyone else. Wait - was that Mr. Therman, getting ready to chuck a cantaloupe at me? And who was that with him...a caveman? From one of those car insurance commercials? Okay, that was just _wrong_. I'd always supported cavemen. And now, they were turning against me.

I turned to the one remaining person, Aunt Libby. She only continued to stare up at me, forlorn, clutching the potato in her hands. But something told me it wasn't about the potato at all.

It was me. Somehow, I was the one who had made Aunt Libby cry. And now, _I_ wanted to cry.

I turned back to the angry mob, which I was now backing away from. They'd come a lot closer during the few seconds I'd turned to my aunt. Mr. Therman threw the cantaloupe - and I ducked, causing it to hit the broccoli behind me. Then, I ran.

As fast as I could, I ran away from the mob and out of the produce section - only to find that there was a long stretch of store ahead of me that I'd have to tackle before I reached the door. And what was this - a jewelry section toward the front? So Henry had been right. How had I not noticed that, all these many years?

I began my sprint for the door. At about the halfway point, I saw Jewel. She began to run with me.

"Whatchu runnin' from?" she asked.

"Them." I said, pointing behind me at the angry mob that was hot on my trail.

"Oh. Okay then. It's funny seein' you here. I thought you were in England."

"What are you talking about?"

Every time I looked at Jewel, the mob seemed to get closer, though I never slowed my run.

"Your trip, remember? Snaps Meghan, you been smokin' somethin?"

"I think I have been, Jewel."

"Awright then. I catch you later ma."

"Later..." Jewel stopped where she was, while I kept running. I immediately found myself about twenty feet ahead of her. It was like watching myself pass something out of the back window of a car, on a fast-moving highway.

I was approaching the doors. I stole one last glance at the crowd that pursued me. Daphne was at the forefront, and her face...it was furious. Apparently, her thoughts of processed Mexican food were long gone, because this wasn't a game anymore. Her face was the angriest I'd ever, _ever_ seen it. She screamed with the rest of the group, her voice conveying a hot desire for revenge. Her eyes flamed like the torch she wielded as she kept up her poisoned glare.

The glare that was directed straight at me. Daphne wanted me dead. And that made me want to just fall to the ground, and let them overtake me.

But for some reason, I didn't do that. I kept going, and almost bashed into the automatic doors that only just managed to slide open as I blazed through.

There was a giant swimming pool just outside. I jumped...and seemed to go about ten times higher than I'd ever gone before. And as I started to come down, my stomach lurched - kind of like it does on roller coasters - and my fall was incredibly slow. In midair, I willed myself to go faster, terrified of being hit with a torch or a cantaloupe once those behind me came flooding out. I stared down at the calm, gently moving turquoise substance below me, reaching for it with all that I had. Every inch of my body screamed for the cool, healing safety of the water.

And finally, I crashed through.

Every sound disappeared as I tumbled slowly into the swirling depth. I watched the white aggravation of the water as it sizzled around my legs. I closed my eyes and relished the serene, soothing feeling that overtook me. Discovering a miraculous ability to breathe underwater, I took in a huge, cleansing breath - and instantly, my lungs and chest were filled with the cool sensation. Somehow, in that grocery store, I'd lost most everything I'd ever cared about. But everything would be alright, as long as I just drifted here, without a care in the world, all the days of my life.

Vaguely, I heard something through the water. I opened my eyes and turned on my back, gazing calmly at the surface far above. I watched as two people, a teenaged boy and girl, came into the water. The boy was brown-haired. The girl was blonde.

Unlike me, the two began to tread water at the summit, rather than releasing all stresses they carried to sink to the land below. Though I was fully clothed - oddly, in a dress of some sort - the two above me were appropriately dressed for the pool, one in trunks, the other in bikini. I watched as a high-heeled shoe I'd been wearing slipped off of my foot and drifted to the top, the other one following shortly after. My hair swirled around my face, threatening to block my view of the couple. I waved my hand in front of my eyes to wipe it away.

The boy and girl seemed to be playing a cute little game, splashing and kicking each other near the edge of the pool. Then, the boy grabbed the edge with one hand and took in the girl with the other. Their legs entangled as they came together, seemingly lost in passionate love. Then their faces started for each other...their lips connected...and suddenly...

He was Luke.

She was Clarissa.

And I was drowning.

All of my memory hit my head like a semi-truck. I knew him. I knew her. I knew it all. And I took in a breath - but nothing came. I gasped. Panic over swept me as I desperately cried out for air. I heard my scream, muffled by the depth of the water. I was dying, under the feet of the one I loved.

And then, I heard a voice.

_"Meghan."_

It's was a man's voice, and it was incredibly familiar. But the identity of the one who possessed it was the one thing in my memory that eluded me. I saw a hand reach out and touch my chest, just below my neck.

_"Breathe."_ I heard him say.

I did. And as I started to take in slow, even breaths, he took his hand away. I couldn't see him, and I didn't know who he was, but I told him not to leave me. I shut my eyes, not bearing to see Luke kiss Clarissa.

_"You've got this, Meg."_ was what he said. _"Go face it."_ That was all.

"Are you crazy?!" I shouted at him, hearing myself loud and clear. But I got no response. I opened my eyes, still facing the surface...

And they were looking straight down at me. Luke was empty. Clarissa was indifferent. And they were both frozen in their stares.

I stared back as I lay far beneath them, still breathing in, and breathing out. They were there. I was here. And no one moved. We only gazed at each other as a strange sound began to weave into my mind. The crackling of a radio. Someone's voice. Still I stared at Luke and Clarissa, until the crackling escalated to a blare I couldn't stand. I shut my eyes.

And when I opened them, I found myself lying in an airplane seat. My heels were on my feet, and my dress was bone dry. And we were on the ground.

Wow. It was impossible for me to believe that already, I was back in New York. I began to regret my sleeping through the whole trip. I mean, not that I was missing much, besides ocean - but if I'd been awake, maybe I would've felt like I'd come more of a distance. Maybe the fact that I HAD been in London would've seemed more real.

Or maybe I was just shaken by the fact that everything was happening _so fast._

I could think of nothing else to do but to take off my seatbelt and

wander to the window. Outside, it was dark and barren, and I didn't even _try_ to guess what time it was. or whether I gone to the past or to the future. I didn't really care. It had been the worst night of my life, and it wasn't over yet. All the shame and hurt was flooding back to where it had momentarily left me in the "sanctuary" of sleep.

I knew that I'd have to call my family as soon as I stepped off the plane and found a phone - and for some reason, it felt strange to me to think that this time, I wouldn't have to dial collect. And oh! The guilt I would have to face. The depression. Such apprehension was hard to bear.

Welcome back, Meghan. To the land where everyone is free and brave - except you.

My feet ached as I stepped away from the window, turning to face a uniformed man who had just come into my cabin. He motioned for me to follow him, and lead me to a door on the opposite side of the small plane. Without a word, he opened it, and held it aside for me to step through. How very polite of him. So sad that he aided an evil rat.

Nothing held me inside the plane - I had by now accepted the unfortunate circumstances, and was ready to breathe in that fresh, smoggy New York air, which I hoped would make me feel a little better. I took a step down, out of the small aircraft.

My shock at the sight that met me was immense. There stood a tall, brown-haired man in a long, khaki trench coat. He was positioned next to a shiny black car, near an open door that led into a roomy, leathery back seat. His hands were in his pockets as he gazed slightly upwards.

"Good evening, Meghan." my cousin's father said with a tentative smile.

I took another step down.

"Lord Dashwood?" I squeaked, still vastly out of sorts. "You came to New York too?"

The man chuckled.

"You're in England, love." he told me.

I took another step, another, another, until I found myself standing on the asphalt ground. Slowly, a cautious joy was weaving its way through my mind and body, as a brighter reality registered in my awareness. I came forward and threw my arms around the guy before I could change my mind, and with his returning the gesture, we stood there, though a little stiffly, for a few brief seconds. Then we released, and he gestured for me to step on into the car. As I did so, I noticed a new kind of look in his eyes that I'd never seen before. It was genuinely a look of compassion and sincerity.

It was also, I noticed, a look of knowing.

**Hehe. Hoped they were to your liking. Thought you'd like a little dose of comedy...was it LOL or did it fall flat? You be the judge!**

**As always, PLEASE review!! I WILL respond! And reviews are a big part of why I keep going with this thing!**

**And I haven't said this in awhile, but...nothing or no one in this story that you recognize from the original movie belong to me. Also, most of the chinese food doesn't belong to me either. But have some anyway. :)**

**-rf-**


	58. The Word Daphne

**Finally, I've finished these. / I will say that big stuff happens here. But I'm sure you're in no mood for my blathering, so I'll get right to it.**

**Tremendous thanks again to all who reviewed. :) Hope these will deliver. **

Tears brimmed in Meghan's eyes as she watched Henry slide into his seat and close the door behind him.To have been rescued like this after all she'd been through, by this man, of all people - it was unbelievable. She knew it, and was feeling the most desperate kind of relief - but even so, in her current state, it was impossible to be truly happy.

Her companion was a bit shaken and out of sorts, it seemed, and she could tell he'd been drinking a lot of coffee. But he also seemed somewhat relieved, and Meghan was surprised to hear him immediately begin to speak.

"Well, first off." he began. "The obvious question is, are you alright, Meghan?"

She nodded, though a part of her told her that such a nod would fail even the most primitive polygraph.

"You can only imagine my shock, Meghan," Henry said, "to hear that you had been kidnapped by a certain employee of mine. It was so very outlandish that at first I couldn't believe it. But I shall tell you long ahead of time - you owe your friend Faye a great amount of thanks, for it was she who was able to persuade me."

Hearing this came not without its share of surprise.

"Faye?" Meghan stammered, pleasantly in shock. "_She_ was the one who told you?" Her mind was reeling as to how Faye possibly could've known.

"Indeed she was." he confirmed. "But as I said, I did not believe the poor girl at first. I thought she was positively mad. I must say, however, that mad or not, you have a wonderful friend in her. I can tell that she holds you in high regard."

Meghan stared into space for a few moments, in newfound admiration for someone who was currently not in her prescence.

"What was most strange, to me, is that the culprit your friend had first named was none other than my advisor, Mr. Payne. That was quickly proved false, however - the real man was pinpointed, admitted to the incident, and was apprehended immediately. Though I can understand Miss Winthrop's mistake - he bears a striking resemblance to my quickly balding friend."

Wait, what? Henry was rambling, but if Meghan wasn't mistaken, she was _sure_ she had just heard him say that Alistair was...

"Innocent. You're so completely and utterly innocent...I could not for the life of me comprehend why anyone would possibly have any motive toward kidnapping you. But the man was quite mad, everyone could tell. Insane. Out of his mind."

Meghan couldn't believe it. Amazingly, Alistair had still been able to twist things in his favor. And though Meghan herself was the actual _victim,_ she was being given no voice whatsoever.

And she knew not what dangers would present themselves by her speaking up.

Really, she wasn't sure what _anything_ was at all, at this point.

"This world is quite a strange one, isn't it?" gathered Henry, glancing out the window.

Meghan jerked her head toward him, starlted by the quick change of subject. She found this a bit random, harkening back to her dream in some creepy way. But, feeling that her mind was in shackles, she replied simply:

"Yes. Yes it is."

There was a pause for a few moments as Henry continued to stare out the window.

"Also," he continued, "I find that this world is not only very strange, but also becoming increasingly small."

An even more peculiar feeling began to come over Meghan. She wasn't exactly sure what he was meaning by this.

"I suppose."

"Yes. And oh! Without the telephone! Without the pen and the paper, without any form of communication! It simply amazes me."

Meghan only studied him.

"Me...too." she managed to say.

Henry looked at her.

"Am I confusing you, Meghan?" he asked.

"Just a little."

"Well then. Maybe I should explain the method to my madness. Although you must forgive me, as I find myself most reluctant to do so."

Meghan never averted her eyes.

"You see, I was, in fact, positively gobsmacked at the idea that you being kidnapped by some disgruntled individual and being put on a plane to New York. Furthermore, I was extremely perplexed as to why I had anything to do with the situation. I simply saw no reason whatsoever, nothing made any sense. Do you have an idea where I may be going with this, Meghan?"

She had no defining answer.

"Keep going." she replied.

"And thus I come to the most difficult part. For as unbelievable as the events taking place actually were, it was the _reason_ that made me take listen, and it was just that which at the time astounded me most of all. It was something that even made me believe, if only for a short time, that it actually _could _have been Alistair Payne who so savagely grabbed you."

Meghan saw his words before they came.

"You truly _must_ be good, true friends with Miss Faye, as she has somehow acquired the knowledge of your being related to an old friend of mine. Libby Reynolds. Your aunt."

She wasn't sure what to feel. The long-awaited moment had finally come. Should she feel satisfaction? Pride? Shame? It was all just too complicated. Her feelings were a mess that she surmised would be impossible to organize again. If they ever _had_ been...well, organized. She began to think that she may not have ever even woken up - the drowsiness combined with this insane reality was beginning to frighten her.

All she knew to do was to keep watching the man, waiting for him to say something more. Unfortunately, what he said next was a question.

"Now, Meghan, I'm going to ask you - what I have just described for you, this relationship...is it true and correct?"

Meghan felt her throat tighten as she looked at him. Once and for all, she decided, she was going to face this.

"Yes."

What Henry did next surprised her. He did not scold her for holding this secret to herself, nor did he stew in silent disgust. What he did do was give Meghan a half-smile, before turning to face straight ahead.

"I must say, this is truly unbelievable. I know not how much your aunt has told you, but judging by your discretion on the matter, I'm guessing it was quite a lot. You may already know that my old friend and I were once very much in love."

"I know."

"I met her in the strangest of all places..."

"Morocco."

"It was quite a long time ago..."

"1986."

Henry turned to look at Meghan intently, with a bit of surprise showing in his face.

"My, she _has_ told you a lot, hasn't she? And to think - you've known all of this, for the entire time you've been acquainted with me!"

Meghan's hands shook as she fiddled with her flower necklace.

"My aunt Libby and I are very close." she stammered, deeming that as being the best thing to say.

Henry half-smiled again.

"Well then, in that case, may I divulge something else to you?"

Meghan could only nod.

"You see, Meghan, though you probably haven't been aware of it, I have been pondering you to no end ever since first hearing word of your arrival. Do you know why that is?"

She forced herself to give him the truth.

"I might."

"Well, I will tell you. Now, I presume you are more than old enough to understand this in a mature way - I am not trying to repulse you. But seeing as you yourself are at the age of exactly seventeen...let me repeat that we did in fact love each other very much..."

He was beginning to show discomfort.

"I understand. Go on." Meghan told him.

"Right. Well, seeing as you were that very age, and American, and in possession of an uncanny likeness to the woman I knew once - have I mentioned that? It is very true. And you see, for a short while, I actually thought that maybe...possibly...I might have..."

Meghan looked away again as yet another thought registered in her mind.

"But now, of course, I see that I have been proven false. I'm quite sure that your mother is a lovely woman, and also quite sure that we have never met. Now, you must surely see where my point comes in. About the world being so small."

Meghan looked at him again.

"Yes, I see."

"You will kindly give your aunt my regards when you return to America, won't you?" he asked.

"I will."

The two then took to looking out of their respective windows, staring in opposite directions. Meghan's mind twisted and turned, throbbing with all that had taken place, thankful that there were good people in this world like Faye and this man. Despite the sinking feeling she felt that the misery was far from being completely over, her mind began to form a hope that maybe, at least for awhile, there would be some solace.

But would there be honesty?

She looked to her companion, and watched as he rubbed his chin, staring out at the speeding scenery. He was obviously lost in thought. Then and there, Meghan knew. Henry had wanted to say much, much more - this "old friend" business wasn't as trivial and insignificant to him as he made it out to be. Libby had meant something to him, and very likely still did.

He was going to marry Glynnis, it was true. But he hadn't forgotten his lost love - and he didn't want to forget.

Meghan could no longer leave things unfinished, unsaid. This was the chance she thought she'd never have again. She had her aunt's permission. And she had the very person she'd needed to talk to ever since she'd arrived here, sitting right next to her with no one else around - other than the driver, who seemed to take no notice as he drove listening to jazz through heaphones. Just too convenient for comfort.

But Henry deserved the whole truth. And Daphne deserved _him._ It was now Meghan who looked straight ahead.

"I think Faye might've left something out." Meghan forced herself to say.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Henry turn back to her, giving her his full interest. And a thought suddenly struck her.

"You know, I actually have another friend. Back in New York. Her name is Daphne." she said, as casually as she possibly could.

There was a pause.

"Daphne." he repeated.

For some reason, this made Meghan immediately turn her head, to look Henry straight in the eyes.

"...yes! Daphne! My friend Daphne!"

Henry looked a bit confused.

"You seem very excited."

She was unable to restrain a strange, sudden laugh.

"I'm sorry. It's just...the way you said her name...it just sounded really nice."

Henry smiled.

"I should think you would be used to English accents by now."

"Ha - no, that's not really what I mean. It's just that it kind of...cements something."

He studied her.

"You've caught the madness as well, haven't you?"

"Maybe. But I think I should go on. I - can you say her name again?"

"Daphne."

"Yes! Daphne is my best friend in the whole wide world."

"How very lovely."

"We go to school together, we hang out every day, and we eat food together but she's really picky, she has a guitar pick collection, and her favorite color is orange...I'm rambling, aren't I? Yeah, I am." Meghan shook her head manically, her eyes dancing in a daze.

"Are you alright?"

"I think so."

"Go on, then. Tell me more about this...Daphne."

Meghan was hit with another jolt. He had only to say her name.

"Well, she's really, really smart. She's going to get into a top university, I'm sure of it. And she kicks behind in Speech & Debate. And she brings me presents when I'm sick, and we watch movies together. And I throw parties for her."

"I'm glad to hear that you have such a wonderful friend, but how exactly might this relate to your original subject?" Henry asked tentatively.

"My what?"

"You said that there was something your friend Faye didn't tell me. Is this what you mean?"

Meghan faltered.

"Yes and no."

She was silent for a minute, again twirling her necklace with shaking hands. Boldly, she stole a peek at Henry.

"Shall I say her name again?" he asked.

Meghan nodded. "One more time."

"Daphne."

"Daphne. Alright. This is what I've been meaning to say. Faye didn't tell you about my friend..."

"Ah, but you just did."

"No. No, I didn't. Sir, I live with three people. My mom is one. My aunt is another. Do you remember the third one?"

"Not exactly. But I'll take a guess that it is Daphne."

"Yes! You're right. It's Daphne."

Though Meghan's heart was pounding, she somehow didn't feel that it was destroying her.

"So, what you're meaning to say is, your best friend, Daphne, lives with you and your mother and aunt? This is what your blonde friend neglected to tell me?" Henry asked, amused.

Meghan nodded. And now, with her hands trembling more than ever, she let something else escape her lips.

"That's exactly what I mean. Except...I'm going to take it a step further, and say that Daphne is not only my friend, but also...my cousin."

Henry was silent for a moment.

"By the aunt you're living with, I presume?" he asked, his voice a bit weak.

Meghan looked at him, sudden tears welling up in her eyes, knowing there was still one, last, faint loophole to tie up. Her freakish excitement had left her, and she now had nothing but pleading nervousness. She was beginning to think that she really _was_ mad, as she reached into her tiny matching handbag, straying from his gaze only for a second. Then she looked at him again.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" she said, voice wavering, as she watched herself hand Henry Dashwood the birth certificate of one Miss Daphne Reynolds.

He unfolded the document. His next move was to read it. Then the final move - to comprehend.

"Oh, dear God." he murmured.

One hand, still holding the paper, immediately dropped to his lap. The other flew to his face, and commenced to moving from mouth to forehead to eyes to mouth again.

Meghan looked away, no longer able to keep the tears from streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry." she told him as she began to sob. "I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you. I'm sorry."

"No..." Henry stammered, not having the least idea what to do with himself. He glanced at the paper again and again. "You...have...no fault here..."

Through the front window, Meghan suddenly realized where they were, as she watched huge iron gates slowly creak open before them. Dashwood Manor. They went on through.

Meghan could see a few lit windows, but had no idea why Henry, who was now lost in emotion as she was, had arranged for her to come here. The driver parked the car, and got out without saying a word. A quick glance at Henry told him he'd better stay away from his and Meghan's doors, and he walked away, toward the side of the house and out of sight. They were left there alone.

For quite a long time, they only sat there. Henry's hand trembled ever so slightly as he held the document, while Meghan quietly cried, hunched in the corner. She tried her best to think about the fact that late as it was, the truth had still been revealed and that Daphne's existance was known. But the shame was overpowering, putting her the shadow of a new fear - that Henry would reject it all, perhaps in some way due to all the time she'd wasted. There was nothing she could do now but cry.

"There's no use in staying out here." Henry finally breathed, not without difficulty. "We may as well go in, where it's warm."

"I can't go in there."

"I can't either, but I suppose I will anyway."

"Go without me then."

"There is no way that I can do that."

"Lord Dashwood -"

"I think it's best you call me Henry. You'll be seeing a lot more of me, apparently. Now please, come in before I lose my mind any further."

Finally, Meghan obeyed. She shoved the door open, stepped out and began to walk to the door on wobbly legs, supplemented by cumbersome high heels. She trudged up the steps, and Henry came up from behind her to open the door.

All had changed in one night. So much was gone, and Meghan could only hope that she did some good for Daphne. And never had she wanted to talk to Daphne so badly as she did right now.

But then, in this matter, Meghan was supposed to be the stronger one. She couldn't run to Daphne - Daphne would only run to her in return, seeking even more comfort. But Meghan didn't feel strong at all. Her weaknesses were blindingly apparent.

Henry pushed the door open and held it for her to walk through. She took a deep breath and did so, then waited for him to follow. He tucked his daughter's birth certificate into his jacket as he closed the door.

"Such a strange world this is." he said once more. "And we are both against it."


	59. The Next Question

**All things were dreamy and light** under the soft, cozying weight of a down feather quilt. Except, maybe, in Meghan's world.

Still, the quilt - as well as the bed it graced - had done wonders for her exhausted soul, during the nine hours in which she had taken in its comforts. The night before, as she had climbed in, its canopy had seemed like the shield that guarded a safe haven, a haven that would allow her to set her problems aside for the glory of sleep. It seemed strong enough, even, to guard against nonsensical nightmares.

Which, thankfully, it had. Now, as Meghan's consciousness began to creep in and wind up into action, she felt before anything else the light softness of the quilt. The state-of-the-art orthopedic pillow registered next, followed by the memory foam mattress that had conformed to her petite shape.

Her bleary eyes began to inch open, at first just caught off guard by a blinding white light, then tentatively opening fuller to allow for focus. The window was wide open, right in front of her, the sun hitting her straight in the face. Meghan rubbed her eyes and tried to register her location.

It took her a few seconds to remember that she had slept in the Dashwood mansion.

The room was strange - regally elaborate, not as foofy as the room she'd grown used to sleeping in, but still a tad overdone. Meghan sat up slightly and searched for a clock. She found one, with Roman numerals and a pendulum, hanging on the wall to her right. It was past noon.

She let her head fall back, heaving a small sigh. How late did people typically sleep at this residence? Everyone else was probably already up. Meghan would probably be subtly scorned with glares from those bearing the surname Payne.

As her mind came further to life, her thoughts drifted to the events of last night - and early this morning.

She and a flabbergasted Henry had arrived back at the palace at approximately 2:30 in the morning. They had immediately been greeted with the sight of Jocelyn, Alistair, Emma, and Faye, all seated in the parlour.

Jocelyn had immediately started firing concerned questions. Alistair, ever the conniving kiss-up, joined in as well - no doubt to cover his sad, guilty arse. Genuine concern had also shown in the faces of Emma and Faye, though they were, of course, less outspoken.

Meghan had immediately run to catch Faye in a hug, chanting endless muffled thank-yous into her shoulder. Faye had tentatively hugged her back. Something told her that her redemption had indeed been achieved, their friendship restored once again.

Emma had been the next to receive an embrace, while Jocelyn was

busy doing the same with Henry. Mother and host-mother both murmured their relief as to the two's safe return. Directly after, Jocelyn had immediately swooped to grab Meghan, squeezing her tightly in a more extreme show of emotion that was typically out of Jocelyn's character.

"Oh, Meghan, thank God you're alright. I was worried sick about you."

"Thank you for caring." Meghan had replied wearily. "It means a lot."

A few seconds after her release from Jocelyn's arms, the remaining individual approached. Alistair layed his hand on Meghan's shoulder.

"Miss Reynolds, you can't possibly understand what immense relief I feel, seeing you again."

Meghan was too scatterbrained to come up with a real reply - and it didn't help that Alistair had her suspended in a vile, burning stare that seemed to go unnoticed by everyone else.

"Thank you." she repeated once more, wondering what kind of sick force was making everyone around her so ridiculously gullible.

Oh yeah. The sick force was Alistair.

And now Meghan was lying in her luxury bed, staring at the lace canopy, and trying her hardest to figure out why she was the only one who seemed able to see through Alistair's phony, despicable act. Henry and Jocelyn were just too intelligent. It made no sense.

Didn't anyone care about _her_ side of the story? Shouldn't _her_ testimony be worth more than anything else? She hadn't even been asked.

But then again, she hadn't spoken up, either. And there might be grave danger if she did. She had no way of knowing what Alistair could do - he'd already gone to the extreme. He could certainly go further.

Groaning, Meghan pulled the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She was confused to feel a peculiar sensation as her foot landed on something other than the plush carpet. She looked to the ground - it was a piece of paper. Meghan picked it up...

And realized that it was yet another note.

_Keep yourself in check, my girl_

_And realize the consequence of every action_

_Every step and every breath taken_

_I suggest you take cautiously..._

_I warn you_

_Take care in what you say._

_A.P._

Oh, and wasn't he just _so_ dang poetic. It made Meghan want to vomit.

What more was Alistair capable of? Could he really make Libby look like a lying gold-digger? Meghan could not overlook the risk of his doing so. After all, he had been able to make _himself_ look like a man of morals, a man who used his intelligence for good - when in reality, that was a sickeningly phony illusion.

There was one thing, though, that Meghan had in her favor. One thing that Alistair was totally oblivious to. Now, perhaps, the tables could finally turn for the better.

Because Henry knew about Daphne.

**Meanwhile, someone else** was just beginning to stir from slumber - Lucas Brenshire, who felt as if he'd been sleeping for ages.

And he sort of had been. He'd slept for a little over fourteen hours.

Instead of waking to the feeling of expensive bed linens, Luke was waking to the smell of dust, and the feeling of an ache in his back. Not to mention a sizeable migraine. He dared to open his eyes.

Lying on his back, the first thing he caught sight of was the slanted ceiling - rotting, wooden beams that crossed, with cobwebs hanging off of them and a few insulated pipes toward the very top for good measure. Turning his head slightly, he took in a slew of cardboard boxes, all stacked on top of one another. None of this was even remotely familiar, and Luke was slowly slipping into a dazed panic.

"Where..." he croaked, heaving himself upwards - only to fall over the side, out of the cot he'd slept in and onto a hard, concrete floor. "Bloody hell..."

He heard a noise from what was apparently the next room. Immediately, he saw a stout, older man run in, one of his hands holding a murder mystery novel. Luke saw the man stare at him as if he were a deer in headlights.

"Gus! ' E's up!" was the man's shout into the other room.

In dashed a thinner, slightly more agile individual, who looked about the same age as the first.

"Geez, you're right! What should we do next?"

"Don't talk as if I'm not here." Luke grumbled at them.

Silence. The teenager propped himself against the side of the cot and lay his head back, wincing. Then, he bent forward, rubbing his forehead. He glanced at the two slack jawed onlookers as he did so.

"I suggest you tell me who you are, and where in blazes I am." he stated.

The thin one finally spoke up.

"I'm Gus from Virginia, he's Mick from Yorkshire. You're at Fallow's."

Luke pondered this.

"Fallow's."

"Yeah. As in, the store owned by this Mr. Mick Fallow - co-owned by myself."

As the man spoke, Luke was immediately reminded of Meghan...and then of more. He cursed to himself, flinching and letting his hands drop to the floor. The two men continued to stand, silent.

After a few moments of muttering obscenities, Luke turned to them again in frustration.

"Stop staring and tell me why I'm here!" he bellowed.

"Y'were running around drunk in the streets." the chubby one finally spoke up.

"We were closing up last night, and saw you running and shouting, so I ran out and grabbed you."

"And at what point, Gus from Virginia, did you think that was a wise idea?"

The two men looked at each other.

"Well, let's just say you looked...pretty funny out there. We were afraid you'd end up killing yourself."

Both of them were trying to keep from sniggering. Luke pulled himself up and stood, trying to shake himself into full consciousness. He watched them.

"Glad to know you find this amusing. Now then, I'll just be going." he said, annoyed. He then walked into the other room, which turned out to be the store itself. The back of a counter and cash register immediately met his eyes, and he saw shelves full of miscellaneous items. Luke made his way around the counter, pondering what mayhem must surely be going on in his absence, his heart twisting with anguish all the while.

"Now wait a minute, man!" he heard from behind, as the thinner one approached. "We both just stayed up through the whole night keeping track of you. If I hadn't brought you in, you might be somewhere in a gutter by now."

Luke turned.

"Alright, fine, thank you kindly. I'm very sorry, but you'll have to excuse me."

"You're in no condition..." Mick said as he came behind, still clutching his book.

"Right, I am in no condition to care what condition I'm in, after what nightmarish events have taken place, as I am only concerned about reconciling the relationship I seem to have horribly damaged. Oh, yes, and letting my family know that I'm still alive!"

"C'mon. We got a phone, use that instead. They'll eat you up out there!"

Gus took the arm of a very confused Luke, leading him back to the room he had just left. He motioned for him to sit on the cot, which Luke did.

"You need to eat. We have microwave pizzas." Mick told him.

"Fine, fine, just get me a phone." Luke said, submissive at last.

This was done immediately. Along with a cordless phone, Luke was handed a glass of water.

"Gotta start getting over that nasty hangover." was its explanation.

Luke took what was given to him.

"Might you have some aspirin, by any chance?" he asked as he began to dial a number.

**It was a Wednesday,** but obviously, I was going to be absent from school today. One thing I wasn't sure of, though, was what I was going to wear.

I had been given a nightgown of Jocelyn's to sleep in - thankfully, they hadn't tried to wrench any garments from Clarissa for me to try on - but I knew I couldn't go around all day in that. Nor could I go around all day in a formal dress and heels.

I was surprised, though, to see something interesting resting on a tufted chair in the corner. It was a light yellow peasant top and white crinkly skirt. Below these things was a pair of old, brown moccasins with flowers embroidered on them.

Apparently, this was to be my outfit.

The blouse fit perfectly - however, the skirt was a little loose. It was a good thing, then, that I had brought safety pins with me to the dance, in my little evening bag. Safety pins are an essential of mine - one should never go anywhere without them. You never know when something is going to rip or fall astray.

Too bad I hadn't had any with me that one day, when I had the nightmare with the gym shorts. But I had learned my lesson.

The moccasins were just a _little_ big as well, so I stuffed a bit of tissue in the toes. There. Good as new.

Where had these things come from, I wondered. They certainly weren't anything Clarissa would be caught dead in. And they really weren't Jocelyn's taste either. I was confused.

Nevertheless, I still came shuffling out of my luxury suite wearing yellow, white, and brown. One problem was solved. Now, on to the next challenge.

I had intentions of finding the kitchen, wherever that was, and scrounging for something to eat.

I didn't count on Henry's summoning me as I passed by his office door.

"Meghan."

I had just gotten by the door. That was where I stopped, and backed up until I was right in the doorframe, facing the brown-haired executive.

"Mind if I talk to you?" he quipped calmly, leaning forward a little. Of course, I was expecting something along this order...I just thought I'd maybe get to eat first...

"Okay." I told him, before hesitantly stepping into a room I'd never been in before. The walls were lined with books, and there was an intricately woven rug on the ground.

"You may want to shut the door behind you." he told me. Good idea. I did that and walked over to the chair that faced him, lowering myself into the seat. I noticed a slew of papers all over his desk, as well as a saucer full of crumbs and a half-empty cup of coffee.

Henry was quiet for a few seconds, before looking at me and giving a weary smile.

"Well, first off - did you sleep well, Meghan?"

I smiled back as best I could.

"Yes, I did. I'm sorry I slept so late."

"Oh, no worries. I would've done the same, actually, were I not used to always being up at this hour. Would you like a scone?"

He produced another saucer, upon which a biscuit lay.

"Yes, please." I replied, doubtless showing my gratitude. I was famished. He handed me the precious baked good.

"And how are you feeling?" came yet another question.

Hmm. How to answer that question. He had, of course, seen me betrayed by the one who supposedly loved me - I'm sure he knew about the heartache that was causing. But he didn't know the war that was going on in my head, as my mind worked to figure out how in all this world Alistair had managed to fool this man - and what, exactly, should be done about it.

"Strange." I finally said. Well, it was the truth.

He chuckled as he bent his head.

"You're not alone."

I looked on, and knew I couldn't possibly begin to phathom what crazy things were going through his mind. I sympathized with him. He now knew that he was a father.

And I must say, he was handling it a lot better than he could've been.

"I suppose I'll get to it then." he said, looking back up at me. "You see, unlike you, I didn't allow myself the privilege of sleep last night. Though I don't think I would have been able to if I tried."

I half-smiled understandingly.

"I knew that I had to talk to you before doing anything else - that is why I called you in so hastily. You see, no one else knows of the things you've told me. And with the exception of my mother, no one even knows that you are related to my...old friend."

Old friend. More were in on it than he thought.

"I plan to talk to each person individually, when I am in possession

of enough sense to do so. I surmise the prospect of my taking a nap sometime before then. But I will not allow sleep to come until I've had the conversation that needs to be had. With you."

I nodded in acknowledgement.

"This may take an hour, or three hours. But all questions, mine _and_ yours, are going to be answered today, in this room."

I was nervous. But I knew this was a good thing.

"We can take turns asking questions, perhaps. Would you like to go first?"

I shook my head.

"Ha, I thought not. Alright then. I have a few questions." He took out an official State of New York document. "Who, exactly, _is_ Daphne Reynolds, and what does she think of me?"

Those were nice questions. Obviously valid ones. I thought for a few seconds.

Best to go with the basics.

"Daphne Reynolds is my dad's sister's daughter. She's seventeen years old, and goes to my high school. Her grade point average is 4.5. She is tall, has brown hair, and likes rock & roll. She wants to be a psychologist. Her smile is the best in the world, and she always makes me happy. I love her."

I saw a faint smile run across his lips as he nodded for me to go on.

"We like to watch TV together, and one day, we were watching BBC America. It was about five years ago. A news program came on, and..." I looked down, fiddling with a loose thread on my peasant top. "And...she started crying. I couldn't figure out why. But Aunt Libby walked in, and she knew right away."

I wasn't sure if I'd gone too far by telling him this. He was definitely deep in thought.

"The thing is, she tells Daphne about you. On her birthday. Every year. They don't talk much about you otherwise. But Daphne wants to meet you. She wants that more than anything."

Surprised at how much I was divulging, I paused. But it felt so, so good.

I looked up to see that Henry's eyes were positively latched on me, as he listened with utmost attention. He looked almost fearful.

"And I won this contest to go to Jasperstone, all expenses paid. The day I left, my aunt gave me that birth certificate, and some pictures. Just in case."

He smiled a bit at this.

"I assume you didn't really think you'd be here today, talking to me." he said, reaching for his coffee mug. I noticed that his hands were shaking, just the slightest bit. And despite the caffeine that was surely coursing through his veins, they hadn't been doing that before.

I looked down again, and tentatively said what I said next.

"Actually...for some reason, I think I knew that something was about to happen." I told him. "Even though I acted like an idiot for the longest time, and didn't say anything."

Henry crossed his hands together in front of him, and leaned forward once more.

"I won't have you guilting yourself. You've been very brave. And I'm going to need your help."

"You are?"

"Yes. You're my only hope of ever possibly figuring this out. I must tell you. I've never been so stunned in my life."

No one said anything more for awhile. Oddly enough, though, it was me who spoke next.

"Is it my turn to ask a question?"

Henry thought for a moment.

"Yes."

"What am I wearing?"

A look came over Henry's face that seemed like some sort of bittersweet hybrid of regret and novelty. He half-smiled.

"Someone left those behind. In the laundry, a long time ago. Thought you might like to have them."

I couldn't help but smile. That's my aunt for you. Always has been absent-minded, always will be.

"Looks lovely, by the way." he added.

And then I sat there, fiddling with that thread, as I waited for him to ask his next question.

**Again, I REALLY hope you liked these...because I myself am not too satisfied with how they turned out. I really hope they sort of made sense, lol. **

**Please let me know what you think, while I move on to preparing the next two. :) **

**-rf-**


	60. The Chats Over Coffee and Tea

**This story has not been updated in a very, very, very long time. But today, I've finally done it. And there will be more.**

**I hope that these are actually worth reading...despite my HUGE incompetance and irresponsibility...anyways read on if you'd like, more info at the end of 60. **

In the kitchen of the Dashwood mansion, on a barstool, sat Meghan Reynolds, sipping tea. And thinking, as always.

Therefore, her mind paid no attention to the maid who cavorted around with a vacuum in the next room, or Ganes poking about in the cabinets, or the fact that her tea was not iced, but hot. No, she was far too preoccupied with the mulling over of her just finished conversation with Henry, bits of which rushing around in her head in a catacomb of instant replays. Henry himself was supposedly napping at the moment, and Meghan hoped that he was able to achieve the sleep that had so evaded him before. He hadn't yet had any discussions with his family about its apparent long-lost member.

She thought back to the next thing he'd said, after explaining the reasoning for her attire...it had, of course, been his turn to interrogate.

His demeanor had gone from nervous and fidgety to more nervous and more fidgety and very, very cautious.

"So...how...is she, then?"

Meghan had looked up from that fascinating thread she'd been fiddling to dumbly say,

"Who?"

A pause.

"Your aunt."

Meghan observed that Henry seemed virtually incapable of letting her aunt's actual name pass his lips. As for an answer to his question, Meghan was indeed quite stumped. She attempted to handle it diplomatically.

"Oh, fine. She's been singing at weddings for a while now...making a good living, and she loves it, which is the best thing. She keeps herself busy."

This seemed to only moderately satisfy Henry. One thing in particular did stand out to him.

"She's singing?"

Meghan nodded. "Oh, yes! Her talents are very sought after by engaged couples in the...Chinatown...area..."

"Interesting. I'm pleased to hear that. She did love singing."

Meghan couldn't stop herself from smiling, while Henry looked away and dove into his coffee, feeling he might have said a bit too much. He could not, no, _must _not go any further into the subject. He swallowed his swig of beverage.

"Your turn."

Meghan had been silent. She knew that Henry had felt a risk by asking what he'd just asked...perhaps she should take a risk herself.

"What made you possibly believe that Alistair might have grabbed me?" she found herself saying. Though she tried to sound incredulous, as if the whole idea of _Alistair_ grabbing her was just too outlandish to be possible.

Henry seemed to find this a curious question. His answer, though, was simple.

"This friend of mine...Alistair did not like her."

"And he was the one that Faye thought had taken me?" Meghan said, taking another turn and again forcing incredulousness. "You said that Alistair doesn't even know..."

"Precisely. Miss Winthrop gave me the name of your aunt and named Alistair as the one she'd seen, but though my mother was present at the time and heard everything, Alistair was elsewhere. Therefore, even if he _were_ capable of such a drastic, despicable act, he'd have no reason to commit it. He has no idea of the person whom you're related to."

So _that_ was it. Of course! As far as Henry knew, Mr. Payne had no way of knowing that Meghan was Libby's niece. Henry hadn't known about the locket. And this fact, together with some unnamed bald guy's admission to the crime (which Alistair surely had coerced through either bribery or blackmail), had somehow been enough to render the bald rat innocent.

And certainly, Meghan's playing along must be sealing the deal, if it weren't sealed already.

"Of course, it didn't take me long to realize this. Fortunately, however, I'd already made the phone call on the jets. A second more of thought beforehand, and you'd be in New York right now." Henry went on.

This was true, and it infuriated Meghan. She'd come _so_ close to losing everything for Daphne, because of Alistair. And even now, he was getting away with it. Oh, how Meghan longed to tell Henry what had really happened, that Faye had been right, that Alistair knew full well who Meghan's aunt was. It was the perfect opportunity - she had Henry alone, face to face.

But something - fear, more than likely - kept her from doing so.

And so the conversation had moved on. Both of them inquired more into each other's history and life, discussing whatever hadn't been talked about during their numerous chess games. Some things were awkward, others laughable, but both people nevertheless grew more comfortable as each minute passed. Henry was soon leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on the desk, gazing around and allowing himself the occasional smile. Meghan found it easier to drop subtle facts about Daphne and even Libby as she talked about herself. Henry asked about Meghan's mother, and Meghan even asked a little about Glynnis.

But Meghan did not bring up the subject of Alistair again.

And there was one other person that neither Meghan nor Henry dared speak of. Or at least, the person was avoided, though Henry could clearly see that thoughts were present through a discreet but constant pain in Meghan's eyes.

Despite this, he chose not to pursue the cause of that pain, knowing that doing so would probably only bring about more. So they talked about everything else, for a good hour and a half. Once again, they found a common level of understanding.

Finally, however, as Henry began to show signs that he was letting his exhaustion take over, Meghan posed what would likely be the all-encompassing closing question.

"Lord Dashwood - "

"Henry."

"Henry. What's...going to happen? Now, I mean..."

At this, the man sighed deeply, massaging his forehead and closing his eyes tightly, before rising to walk to the window and gaze outside.

Meghan waited for him to answer. He leaned against the windowpane.

"What happens next...is a bit unclear." he finally stated, still looking away. "I imagine first of all that you should stay here for at least a short while - what with all that remains to be sorted out. I think you need a change, and it will be beneficial for you to truly get to know this family, and vice-versa. And at some point, hopefully soon, we will be able to take some action regarding your cousin."

This was music to Meghan's ears, despite knowing that she'd actually be _living_ with two evil monsters and a moron besides. Henry's last sentence, however, had made her heart soar. _Action._ For Daphne.

"Certain arrangements will have to be made, but to sum it all up - you shall be like a tiny practice, a warm-up...for the Dashwood family. I suppose. In preparation for...someone else, perhaps."

Meghan understood this plan. For the most part, Meghan loved this plan.

Henry finally turned, and half-smiled.

"Please don't feel that you are being used, mind you." he pointed out. "What I mean is, you are already accepted. But you are our only link to the girl on that certificate. And this is the way to get things going. To be honest - once I inform others living here of these...circumstances, you will be so sought after that it will be pointless to go back to the Winthrops'. At least, for the time being."

Meghan kept her gaze still.

"Alright."

And she wondered whether she should thank him, or ask something more, or just say nothing at all.

She ended up having no need to choose, as Henry moved away from the window and sat back down, starting to gather things.

"Yes. Well. I think this will do for now...there will surely be more time, and more discussion. However, I must say that I can't put off sleep any longer. So I shall let you out of this dungeon - I sincerely hope that it wasn't too entirely boring for you."

Meghan shook her head, wishing she had more to say, other than:

"Not at all."

"Good then. Off you go."

She rose from her seat and made for the door, while one last thing struck Henry.

"Oh, and Meghan - "

She turned.

"I just wanted to say...I'm truly, deeply sorry. About what happened to you."

Meghan had nodded as a rush of heartbreak swept over her, and had forced herself to give Henry a small smile, before opening the door to the hallway and stepping out.

Now, as she sipped her tea, Meghan fought to hold back tears, trying her best to console herself with the prospect that good things were about to happen to Daphne.

Someone had hurt her. But she loved him. She wanted him.

It was then that Ganes shuffled over.

"Miss Reynolds, I was given strict orders to prevent all calls from going through to Lord Dashwood's office. However, I thought you might be interested to know - Master Luke called for you. Seven times."

Meghan could only stare at him.

"Well!" came another voice. "Glad to see you're up, Meghan."

Jocelyn had come into the kitchen, and now was serving herself some of that lovely tea.

"I've just been in my bedroom, reading a book. I knew you needed sleep after such a _dreadful_ night. But now you _must_ come into the nook to have tea with me."

Jocelyn seemed oddly enthusiastic. Even so, Meghan decided to comply. Anything to provide a distraction from the individual whom a certain butler had just mentioned.

Thus, a minute later, Meghan was seated across from a very content-looking Lady Dashwood. Strangely, the tiered cookie tray had been moved aside. Meghan was therefore able to look directly at the woman, who was ever-unreadable. There was no telling what next she would say. Meghan was very afraid that they'd end up talking about her aunt, of whom Jocelyn was apparently aware.

"Nice day we're having, isn't it?" was what the woman said. "I imagine Clarissa will be coming home soon."

Meghan had to consciously tell herself not to groan. She was thankful that she hadn't yet had to deal with Clarissa, nor had she had any encounters with Alistair or Glynnis thus far.

Jocelyn was gazing out the window, at what looked to be a gardener trying to contain a sprinkler that had just exploded.

"So tell me - what's she like?" she now said casually, turning to Meghan.

The teenager was mildly confused.

"Who?"

"My granddaughter."

**At the very same time...**

"MOM!"

"What?!"

"Where's my orange sweater?!"

"I have no idea!"

"I need it!"

"Wear something else!"

A pause. A long, long pause.

"Okay then."

And so, Daphne shuffled out wearing a neon green go-go jacket. Her mother tossed her a breakfast bar, and she caught it before throwing the door open. She hoped to beat the school bell, which she was running late for - it was a formidable task, but it wasn't like she hadn't done it, several hundred times before.

**Luke was cursing the fact** that he'd left his cell phone - along with his infamous palm-pilot - in the pocket of his coat, which, along with that of his lost love's, had been stored away in a closet in the mansion prior to the couple's entering the dance.

For because of that very thing, he was sitting here in this strange, dusty dimension, trying to work a dog-and-bone with an actual _dial_ on it.

And all the while, he was having to bear the annoying presence of someone called Gus, who at the moment was rattling on in a dialect that painfully reminded Luke of Meghan's. Only, Gus's had more of a twang.

"The year was 1964. Old Mick and I were both stationed in a country commonly known as Germany. I was a wily bachelor chasing after German women; he was a soft, quiet little man with a wife he loved back in Old Yorky. We got to know each other over a coupla beers, and a few pranks instigated by yours truly..."

Luke only momentarily stopped to ponder the fact that never, ever before had he heard Yorkshire referred to as being 'Old Yorky', before going back to his frantic task of trying to reach Meghan.

He'd already contacted his family, whose sober members had indeed been quite dismayed and furious over his actions, which they'd already known through a combination of gossip and news articles. Evidence of such articles was verified when Mick brought in about five newspapers, tabloids mostly, with Luke and Meghan's story blasting a visual alarm on every front page. One tabloid in particular was especially gruesome: it featured a large picture of a disoriented Luke stumbling out of Everston Mansion, along with a small, separate picture in the bottom right corner of Meghan, who was sobbing uncontrollably. Plastered across the top of the page was a single word in huge, bright red lettering: "BETRAYAL!".

Never in his life had Luke felt so sickeningly horrible. Calling the Winthrops' had won him only a cold "She's at Dashwood Manor.". Calling Dashwood Manor had produced only repeated "She's unavailable at the moment."s. Still, he called said mansion about every ten or so minutes, each of those minutes scraping by at an agonizing pace as he listened to Gus and Mick's life story and nibbled on a small pizza that tasted like cardboard. Each call was met with yet more disappointment.

Luke was beginning to think himself to be going insane. Time and time again he was being prevented from even small attempts at redemption, from explaining what was unexplainable. He felt frustratingly that he was wasting time.

"And so, he took me to Chez Fallow to meet Helen, and Helen had a friend name Cassandra, who I married a month later. Didn't get back to Virginia for three years after that; no family there anyhow, so what was the point? Then the four of us all decided to move here to the big city, so's Mick could pursue his big dream of ownin' a business. It was hard work, but we kept on truckin'..."

"Excuse me." Luke had said of Gus, at one point in the rather one-sided conversation.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Well, cuz I've got nothing better to do, I suppose."

Luke had looked to the side for a second, trying to restrain himself from bursting into an angry fit. Then, he'd gone back to his frantic calls.

It had struck him to call his best friend, Ian.

"'Ello?"

"Ian?"

"Up yours, you filthy blighter."

"Wait, I..."

"You don't deserve even a moment of my time. I will only waste about thirty seconds of it to tell you that you've clearly proven to be as much an arrogant pig as the rest of your kind, but worse. You are a swine. Good day, _Lord Brenshire_."

What Luke heard next was the dial tone.


	61. The Return Of The Faye

**Of course,** this was not the first time Lady Jocelyn Dashwood had taken me by surprise.

But that doesn't mean I was caught any less off-guard.

"W...What?"

I knew that she had knowledge of my aunt. But how had she grabbed _Daphne_ out of the clear blue sky?

Jocelyn gave me that lovely yet slightly mischievous smile of hers. She reached into her jacket pocket...

...and pulled out Daphne's most recent school picture, daintily setting it in front of me.

Oh yeah. I had given her that picture, hadn't I?

"Your cousin?"

Yes, my cousin. That clever Jocelyn. Or rather, that dumb Meghan, for not realizing this sooner. Dumb me.

And as might be expected, all I could do was smile at her, nodding, embarrassed at how silly I was. This was very, very awkward.

But Daphne's grandmother just kept right on smiling.

"I thought so. Actually, you may not believe this, but I've thought so this entire time."

"You have?"

"I have. One look at those eyes, Meghan. My Henry - those are his eyes. And that smile. I'd recognize it anywhere."

I couldn't help but grin at that.

"But oh, I see someone else in this lovely girl. I see a strong, radiant woman I once knew. That look, that demeanor...not to mention that nose. It's a dead giveaway."

I couldn't stop smiling. Jocelyn always knew how to make things comfortable. She was prim and proper all the way through, exuding dignity and sophistication - but in a way that never made you feel inferior, or pressured to act in a certain fashion. Jocelyn made herself care about etiquette and prestige, but knew that real emotion, real compassion, real happiness - that was what mattered.

"Do you remember her name?" I asked her.

"That would be Daphne, I believe."

"That it is."

I thought to myself, and realized that I still hadn't answered her question.

"You asked what she was like...well..."

Jocelyn waited.

"She's wonderful."

I heard her take a deep breath, and for the first time, I saw her lose her perfect composure. Just a tiny bit. She was shaking her head.

"Oh, Meghan..." Jocelyn breathed. She looked away. "I...I promised myself I wouldn't...but Meghan, you don't know how long I've...waited for this..."

Tears were threatening my eyes as I watched her. I'd never seen her so happy. So happy that...she was crying.

_She's waited for you, too, Lady Dashwood. All of her life._

I thought it. That sentence. And then, I said it.

**Late that afternoon,** a black station wagon pulled up in front of the Dashwood mansion. The passenger door opened, and Faye Winthrop stepped out, then proceeding to walk around to the back of the car. The trunk lid popped up, and she pulled out a rather large duffel bag, lugging it down to the ground before closing the trunk. She then lifted it again, bid goodbye to her mother, and stepped directly in front of the foreboding iron gates.

The watchman seemed to know why she was there; he nodded briskly and within seconds the gates began to move apart. Faye was intimidated, as she had been the night before.

Here was a gigantic house that screamed wealth, prosperity, and prestige. Here too was a flawless, perfectly kept courtyard - a garden that looked like it required some sort of mathematical calculation to have achieved its symmetry. The ground was different...enchanted perhaps. There was something about it that made Faye tread lighter, move forward with care.

Upon reaching the gleaming doors, she rang the gleaming doorbell, and was soon face-to-face with the gleaming butler. Said butler beckoned her in, before shuffling off to fetch "Miss Reynolds".

When Miss Reynolds did appear moments later, sporting a peasant top and ruffly skirt, Faye was relieved for a brief moment by the bright smile that greeted her. But not long after, fear came rushing back, and she stood up straighter. The extreme nervousness of feeling inferior was now coupled with the equally jarring prospect of having to speak with Meghan about the things that were said and done, as well as some lingering guilt besides.

Last night had been traumatic, and everyone had been too flustered to make confrontations. Would today be different?

"Hello, Faye!" was what Meghan said first. "Gimme that."

Meghan immediately came over and took the bag, setting it down beside them before embracing a tense Faye.

"I'm so happy to see you." she said into the blonde's shoulder. Faye heard earnest emotion in Meghan's words. She wrapped her arms around to return the hug, and even felt a hesitant smile creep onto her face.

"Afternoon, Meghan."

As Meghan drew back, she saw that Faye was smiling a little but

looked quite pained. Thoughts ran through Meghan's mind. She had once known this girl to be talkative beyond belief, but had now come to know a new side - one that involved the packing of millions of words and emotions into a single, short statement. Yes. No. Afternoon, Meghan.

Meghan grabbed the duffel bag before Ganes could get his hands on it.

"C'mon. This way." she told Faye brightly, guiding her with her free hand.

They were soon in the room where Meghan was to be dwelling. The bag was set on the bed, and Meghan unzipped it to glance into it briefly.

"I brought you several changes of clothes...uniforms...toothbrush and all that."

"Thank you." Meghan said. But rather than starting to dig out the bag's contents to set them in their proper temporary places, she closed the flap and sat down on the bed.

"So, how've you been?" she asked Faye.

Her hesitant smile returned.

"Fair to cloudy." she replied. "And yourself?"

Meghan tried to think of a weather report.

"Um...sunny with clouds and possible tornado conditions?"

Faye chuckled a little, but was still as stiff as a board. Meghan responded to this by holding her hand out and moving her fingers together in the "come here" motion. When Faye came forward, Meghan patted the space beside her. Faye sat down, and it was then that an arm was draped around her, pulling her towards the American dressed as a hippie.

"What's it going to take to cure you, huh, Faye?"

Faye looked at Meghan, and was in danger of going into tear-mode. She was confused, and in wonder.

"Why are you so calm?" she asked Meghan. "Why does nothing faze you?"

"Is that what you've been wondering, all this time?"

"I marvel at your life, at what I've seen of it. I cannot understand you. But I understand myself even less."

Meghan hesitated for a moment.

"Then you and I have something in common. We've both lost our identities." she said.

Faye said nothing, though her eyes widened as if her mind had been read.

"Tell me all of it." Meghan told her friend gently. "Tell me how you knew. About my cousin, and about..."

Faye waited.

"...Alistair."

Meghan saw her turn away.

"So I am not crazy."

"No." Meghan said breathlessly. "And I would be gone if it weren't for you."

Faye paused only a moment, before forcing herself to speak.

"The day you left with...one day, when you were gone...." she began, "Your brown bag was on the floor in our bedroom, and the cat was clawing at it. I think you remember. I took the bag away from him, and numerous things...fell out."

Meghan looked on, already starting to guess the rest.

"I bent to pick everything up, and I found your white envelope, and...oh dear, how I hate myself for what I did..."

"Faye, don't..."

"I read what I shouldn't have read. And I was immediately overcome with regret, which has not left me since. I felt like a conniving urchin, and now felt as if I could never know you. As if you'd always, in the end, be a stranger to me."

That was it. In that instant, Meghan knew what had troubled Faye and what obviously still troubled her now. Ignoring Clarissa and her cruel ploys, acting as if they were nothing, had been what first separated the exchange student and her host-sister. Then her time spent with...him...had put Meghan farther away on Faye's coordinate plane. Finally, the contents of that envelope had placed the two girls on entirely different planets. And this relocation to a mansion, Meghan thought, must be making things infinitely worse.

"Then there was the prank with the bucket..." Faye went on. "It was Emily's plan. I took the blame because I knew why you stopped them, and I thought that by accepting fault, it might make them less resentful to you...they'd get a lighter sentence than myself, you see. I'm not sure it worked very well."

Faye closed her eyes.

"And finally, Clarissa got to me...truly...and my actions were far worse than any of theirs. Meghan, I can't tell you how sorry I am and always will be -"

"I already know, Faye. That's all behind us."

But nonetheless, Meghan had to draw her companion closer, to comfort her as she began to cry. And they stayed that way, Faye's tears spilling down, her emotions finally being set free. Then she tried to gather herself, reaching into her small purse for a handkerchief. Sitting up straight, she wiped her face and nose. Then her hands fell into her lap.

"I was there. In the park, the night of the dance, mere feet from you." came her shaky words. "And my eyes did not fail me. The guilt belongs to that vile Alistair Payne."

"Only you and I know that."

Faye was silent. Somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling that she herself was just as vile as Alistair was.

"Let me tell you something." Meghan said. "You don't know how grateful I am to you. And you also have no clue whatsoever how much your friendship now means to me."

The blonde turned to face her, giving her a look that was half-resigned, half-stunned.

"You think that you've done me so much wrong. But if you hadn't opened that envelope, it would have all been over. You wouldn't have been able to save me."

Meghan looked straight into Faye's strained eyes, with tears mounting in her own.

"But you did save me. You're incredible, Faye. And brave. Thank you."

With this, Meghan saw something. Finally, light was beginning to return to Faye's face. As if the weight had been lifted, as if all the anguish and grief were flowing out of her eyes. Here was Faye's release. Her shoulders relaxed. For once in a very long while, someone was easing the

pain.

"I'd do it again." It was an understatement.

But Meghan had learned to decipher what was meant by the understatements she now often heard. She'd come to know many people who didn't wear each deep emotion of theirs on their sleeves, who didn't make their feelings blatantly obvious. Not everything had to be said, to know what was true.

Meghan smiled broadly.

"Guess what?" she said. "I have two best friends now."

At long last, Faye beamed.

"But as one of them, there is one prerequisite you must fill." Meghan told her, acting business-like. "You must talk and talk, constantly, as if your life depended on it."

A wonderful laugh came from the girl in braids.

"I think...perhaps...it does depend on it."

"You may be right." Meghan said with a grin. "The depression will kill you otherwise."

Faye laughed some more at that, looking down, bashful. She was all too aware of the chatterbox she was, as her true self.

"I can't believe," she mused to Meghan, "you're actually going to be _living_ with Clarissa."

Meghan chuckled, letting herself fall back on the luxury down comforter.

"I can't believe it, either." she said. "Wanna go freeze her undergarments?"

Faye fell into one of the pillows, and Meghan sat up, confused - until she saw her friend's upper body moving with hysterical laughter. At last.

**Okay. Again, I hope these were somewhat enjoyable. I am very sorry that I took so long to post them; I've had a lot of stresses and distractions but nevertheless have not given up. Eventually this story will end...properly. Anyhow. I plan to have more up in about two weeks, if anyone's still interested. :/ Those still reading - you rock, and I commend you. It means a LOT to me. **

**Review if you want, only if you want...and I WILL be back. Also, there is chinese food and Coco Puffs available as always, in the Food Room (first door on the right), and I'll be taking requests for other tasty snacks.**

**Yours and in fact not dead**

**-rf-**


	62. The Dining Table

**Well, I was supposed to be back a few weeks ago...I guess what I'm hoping is that the title of this story holds true in real life, as a personal slogan. Either way, I'm now finally able to take something more from my strange imagination and put it on this screen.**

**Thanks tremendously to my two awesome reviewers; you'll be getting overdue replies presently. But thanks also to anyone who's decided to read this story at any time.**

Evening was now upon England, and supper time was now upon the Dashwood household.

Now, of course, Meghan was partaking in this supper time, and to say that it was awkward would be the very definition of an understatement.

Jocelyn, not surprisingly, seemed to be the most chipper one at the table, even attempting to make some small conversation. She vigorously complimented Cook on the meal, which she daintily ate.

Jocelyn had been the first.

Meaning, the first to enter Henry's office, for his first excruciating revelation of the evening. After rising from his nap (most reluctantly), Lord Dashwood had beckoned his dearest mother in from where she was reading by the fire. He'd had the funniest look on his face that Jocelyn had ever observed, except possibly for that incident about five years ago, when he'd been hit in the stomach by a flying croquet ball.

Within a minute, Henry was staring almost pleadingly into the eyes of someone else who shared Daphne's blood; the last of three currently in the house. He almost said something along the order of: "Mother, there's something I must tell you.", but thought again when he noticed Jocelyn's demeanor. He knew that there was not much need for elaboration, and decided instead to simply hand over the birth certificate.

The glowing expression that was already on Jocelyn's face did not change. She only read the document placidly, as if its information were redundant. Which it was.

"You already knew."

"Ah, you're receptive."

"And no one had to tell you."

"Not a soul."

Henry shifted in his seat.

"I have never felt so bloody weird in all my life."

He commenced to rubbing his forehead with both hands again, his elbows set on the messy desk in front of him. A few seconds of silence passed, until Henry briefly glanced up at his mother.

"You seem pleased." he grumbled.

Jocelyn leaned in a bit closer.

"Well, I am, dear! Elated, really. After all these years, thinking this was it, nothing else, only to discover that my own son -"

"Oh, for God's sake, Mother!"

"Why, there's nothing to be ashamed of -"

"No, no, stop there please."

Henry got up to stare out the window again.

Jocelyn waited, glancing lovingly at the birth certificate once more.

"You can't tell me that you don't feel the least bit strange." Henry said.

"No, I cannot." Jocelyn replied. "This is strange indeed. But we should accept it as something good."

Henry turned sharply.

"Well, excuse me if I'm a bit farther behind you in the acceptance process!"

"I understand." the woman said, as she rose from her seat and approached her son, who was facing away again. She handed him that precious school picture, which made his eyes widen. He swallowed, his gaze locked on the image.

Jocelyn did understand. It was just hard to contain the incredible love she already felt for this young girl she'd never met. And she knew that in good time, Henry would share that love.

This wonderful prospect was central in Jocelyn's thoughts this night, as she kept with her task of warming the atmosphere with lovely observations.

Not so with the thoughts of Glynnis, which in themselves were few and far between, for Glynnis was not much of a thinker. But dark clouds were swirling around her tiny brain as she nibbled on gourmet food, and a hideous scowl refused to leave her face. Then again, if it _were_ to leave her face, the hideousness would not much improve.

And who had been second in line?

Most unfortunately for many involved, Glynnis had the title of "fiancée" graced upon her shoulders. That meant the she was next on the priority list of those to be informed of the new developments. And, being all too aware that her future mother-in-law had come in before her, Glynnis had a bone to pick.

"Why the devil are you favoring your mother over me yet again? You're nothing but a dim little boy, Henry."

"...Never mind. I need you to listen."

"Why? You never listen to _me._ It's always the same. I'm never important."

"Glynnis, please..."

"Do you know what it is like to be constantly ignored? Like I'm just a gigantic doll you place beside you in public to help your own appearance?"

For a tiny second, Henry pondered what level of accuracy that statement actually carried. The thought was then thrown from his mind.

"Glynnis."

"And I am to stand there and look so very pretty and plastic-like..."

"Glynnis! You can let me inform you of these circumstances myself, or I can speak with your father, and you can hear it from him. Which of these strikes your fancy?!"

This silenced Glynnis. It was a beautiful silence, but Henry had not the condition to enjoy it. In any case, it didn't last long.

"Circumstances?"

Henry shut his eyes, sighing deeply, one hand propping his head.

"I've discovered there was more to my family than previously

known."

This sentence struck him as being strange, as soon as he'd said it. He felt unable to word anything correctly.

Glynnis looked thoughtful, swirling the strange sentence around in her mouth, then proceeding to spit out:

"Have you been researching your ancestry?"

Henry felt yet more ridiculous.

"No. Glynnis, the facts are these. I've just been informed that a woman I was close to many, many years ago had a child, and that the child is mine."

You could have electrocuted the woman, and she would not have looked more aghast.

"What?"

And Henry forced himself to elaborate, forced himself to relate to Glynnis his adventures in Morocco, the marriage that had never been legalized, the turmoil that had taken place, and painfully, the relation it all carried to Meghan, the informant.

At the word "mine", the bulky woman had felt shock and the beginnings of anger. At the word "Meghan", she'd become absolutely livid. She'd stood up like a vulture staring down on Henry who, knowing what was coming, rolled backwards in his desk chair to avoid contact with Glynnis' stiff palm on the side of his face.

"Filthy! I'll throw that girl out by the collar, I promise you!"

"You'll do nothing of the kind."

Much more followed, of course, with numerous other words such as "liar" and "sham" and "You're this close to losing me as your bride, THIS CLOSE!". Finally the future Lady Dashwood stomped from the room, heading to her bedchamber to heave miserable tears.

Which she planned to do again after supper, to show Henry just how much he'd wronged her and get him to open his heart wide (and his checkbook wider) to Glynnis and only Glynnis. At the present moment, she was contemplating the sulky look she'd be giving him when he'd finally come to bed that night.

Meanwhile, Alistair was contemplating other things. He had been summoned after his daughter - this had come as an interruption to his thoughts of sabotage and fiendish plans. Which to Henry had looked like examining Parliamentary records, as the man's job entailed.

The actual discussion was peculiar, with Henry's being perplexed as to disclosing something so personal in a businesslike manner. On Alistair's end, he at first had to act more surprised than he actually was (as he'd done the night before), trying to contain and hide the fury that boiled inside him. He'd immediately deemed the entire thing preposterous, already suggesting they take action against these criminals called the Reynolds. Oh, yes, he remembered "that woman", he said, he had not really been fond of her, he said.

But then, Alistair was hit with _true_ surprise, as he was handed an authentic, official document from the state of New York - one that was copy-proof and forgery-proof. And then there was undeniable proof - a picture of the girl herself, with the name of a school photo company lightly printed over and over on the back. The name of a high school was printed as well, directly below Daphne's smiling face.

Now, he might've said something on the order of, "She could've named anyone as the girl's father." True. But the dates held. And regardless of that, no one could have manipulated that photo enough to achieve the realistic perfection it had. It was enough to win this "Daphne Reynolds" a chance, at least. Alistair was trapped.

And so, his body had gone stiff, as he'd quickly gone into "let's take appropriate action as to what shall be done next" mode - only to have Henry tell him that such action had already been taken. And it included Meghan's residing with the family, at least for the time being.

Alistair had never dreamed of hating someone more than he hated Libby Reynolds. But as of now, he did in fact hate Meghan Reynolds even more.

Adding to his overwhelming frustration Wednesday night was the fact that he couldn't even so much as scowl at the girl; a luxury which his daughter Glynnis enjoyed. He was expected to be businesslike, and that meant he had to sit and politely eat in his usual stiff manner.

He'd simply have to make a new plan. She _would_ go down. It was only a question of how.

On another note, there was the matter of the one remaining family member: the intolerable Clarissa, who was not even seated at the table that night. And she had been most intolerable, when her turn had finally come.

Alistair had remained in the office with Henry, to give Clarissa "emotional support", feeling inclined to add that things might've gone better with Glynnis had the same been done for her.

But Alistair's "emotional support" had done nothing to subdue Clarissa.

Upon being told the momentous news, Clarissa had risen from her chair, silent, her face stony and blank. She'd left the office then, crossing the hall to a nearby bathroom and shutting the door. After which, she'd promptly begun crashing and bashing whatever she could find inside, screaming numerous expletives as she did so.

Alistair and Ganes had been forced to break into the bathroom by means of removing the doorknob, grabbing the thrashing girl by the arms and legs and carrying her to her bed.

Her grandfather only pretended to reprimand her, later suggesting that she call a friend and request a place to stay for a few nights. Not long after this, a car took Clarissa away.

Meghan had watched out of her bedroom window as the car was leaving. She was glad that Faye had gotten out long beforehand, and she considered whether staying here rather than going with her was exactly the brightest idea.

She'd heard the chaos that had taken place, followed by Glynnis briefly yelling at - she guessed - Henry:

"You see?! You see what this has already done to our family?!"

Thus, as grateful as Meghan was not to have Clarissa dining with her quite yet, she still felt uncomfortable beyond measure. She tried to focus on Jocelyn's happiness, as she often did, rather than paying mind to glaring Glynnis and the madman that was Alistair. As for Henry, whom Meghan observed to seem even more uncomfortable than she was and exhausted besides - he simply cut his meat and ate it vigorously, in a hurry to escape to his office again. Maybe he'd sleep there tonight.

Everything seemed difficult in Meghan's world at that moment. What wasn't difficult was tragic instead; on top of all the stress of what people were going to think of Daphne, she also had the constant, throbbing pain left by a boy named Lucas. Her love for him was still there and beyond her control, despite what he had done.

At least he'd never told her secret. Clarissa had made that clear a few hours ago, with her crashing and bashing. Obviously, Clarissa had not known about Daphne before tonight. But as much as Meghan wished this could redeem Luke, it could not. It would be like believing that Alistair had redeemed himself by returning her locket. The fact was, Luke did not care for her. He was against her, as others were.

There were good things, though. Faye was her friend again and was feeling better, and Faye's father was in the process of assembling a case for the restaurant's reopening. And Meghan had kept her promise to Daphne. She hoped she'd kept the one made to Aunt Libby as well, though Meghan herself couldn't judge her own level of responsibility. Meghan didn't tend to think much about Meghan.

But down the street, someone else was thinking about her constantly. And he would be tossing and turning in his bed that night, telling the wall how much he loved that girl and always would.


	63. The Tense and Intense

**Eventually, Luke **_was_ able to finally escape the protection of Fallow's and its co-owners, when one of the typical black luxury vehicles pulled up outside of the store. And despite his misery and annoyance, he did make sure to thank said store owners profusely.

"I'll repay you somehow, believe me. When I can think of a way."

"Nonsense. We were only doing our job as decent, upstanding citizens."

Gus and Mick's humility was impenetrable, but Luke made sure to place them and their good deed safely in the back of his mind. He planned to make good on his vow to reward them. Especially seeing as right now, the two men seemed to be the only allies he had.

Since he was in no particular hurry to face his family, he bade the driver to take him to the Winthrop residence. Maybe there, perhaps, he could get some answers as to why Meghan was at Dashwood Manor - or, if he were lucky, she would be back at the Winthrops' herself.

At the very least, he hoped they'd be willing to speak with him. He hadn't remembered seeing Faye at the ball; she hadn't seen what an arse he'd made of himself. But then, Meghan had probably filled her in. And there were still those newspapers and wretched tabloids...

His car soon pulled up in front of the cottage, just as it had the night before. Luke stepped out, walked to the door, and rang the bell.

And who should it be but Faye herself that answered the door?

Still holding the doorknob on the inside, Faye stared for a few moments. A fleeting look of surprise passed over her, leaving a grim, slightly resentful look in its place.

"Mr. Brenshire." she acknowledged in a cold but forcibly cordial tone.

"Hello, Faye." Luke said, giving her a sheepish smile. "Do you mind if I speak with you?"

Faye hesitated, looking back into one of the rooms. Luke wondered if her other family members were in there, waiting, silent, shocked at his arrival.

Finally, Faye moved carefully around the door and stepped outside. She clasped her hands together and stood up straight, gazing at Luke diplomatically.

"Yes?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Well, first off, it's good to finally meet you."

Faye gave him a slight nod, indifferent.

"You as well."

Luke began to feel more uneasy as he paused, looking away, trying to gather his thoughts.

"Right, thank you. I was wondering if you could help me. I'm trying to find a way to speak with Meghan...is she still at Dashwood Manor?"

"Yes."

"Yes. Alright. Might I ask why?"

He saw Faye's eyes darken at this.

"Well, I think it's very rude of you to ask why, considering it's none of your business."

Luke became even more sheepish.

"Faye...I know that I seem undeserving of any further information, but I care deeply for Meghan, and I really need your help."

"Mr. Brenshire, am I expected to believe that you care for her in the smallest way, after what you've done?"

"No, you're not. But please, I must know - is she there to avoid me, or is there another reason?"

Faye looked away.

"I'm surprised you don't know. You likely had a hand in it."

Luke was puzzled.

"Hand in what?"

Faye looked at him again, almost incredulous at his lack of awareness.

"Her kidnapping, Mr. Brenshire."

He was immediately taken aback.

"W...What?!"

The blonde was silent, studying him.

"Kidnapping?! By whom?!"

Faye laughed darkly.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. No one else does, except Meghan herself."

"But you know who it was?"

"Oh, yes. I saw it."

"Tell me. I can promise you that I'll believe."

He already had a bit of an idea...Faye was hesitant.

"I still find it very strange that you're so oblivious to the culprit, actually. For it makes utmost sense that you could've grabbed Clarissa to make Meghan run from the building, outside, where she was vulnerable, to have Alistair Payne seize her and attempt to ship her back to New York, and then give you a healthy sum for your troubles."

Luke was now burning with rage toward that sick old man. How _dare_ he?! How dare he lay a hand on her?!

Nevertheless, Luke kept his tone even for Faye, grateful that she'd disclosed to him the information.

"I believe your account, wholeheartedly. But be assured that I had no part in it. I'd never be a part of something so evil, and regardless, Alistair had nothing to bribe me with. I've more money than I know what to do with, unfortunately."

Faye was silent again, for a moment, before finally speaking.

"It really doesn't matter whether you were involved or not. Not now. Meghan is safe, nonetheless. And you are a pig, nonetheless."

Luke's sorrow rose up again, from beneath his fury.

"Faye." he said desperately, "I know that I must seem horrible, and that I have nothing to prove otherwise. But you must believe me. Something took my mind. I thought it was Meghan I was kissing last night."

The girl looked at him, blankly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brenshire, but everything you've just said sounded absurd. And in any case," Faye said, "there's nothing I can do for you."

She opened the door and walked inside, throwing him a last, quick glance. And then Luke was alone, feeling an almost lethal mix of pain and anger. He carried this with him back to his luxury car. Inside it, his face in his hands, he was driven away from the Winthrops'.

**That night,** amid the second onset of repeated phone calls from an arrogant, foolish young man, Meghan sat in the room she'd been given, staring at the wall.

Those calls seemed more frantic - at least, according to Ganes. Luke had apparently found out about the private jet incident, and for some reason, seemed concerned about it. Meghan couldn't fathom why he would be, however.

Downstairs, before, she'd heard one of the calls - while Henry had been up in his office, informing Jocelyn of her granddaughter. Up until that moment, Jocelyn and Meghan had been talking pleasantly in the parlor, in front of a crackling fire. Then Henry had shown up in the doorway and asked that his mother come with him. She'd risen, and had winked at Meghan as she'd left the room. Ten minutes later, the phone rang.

"I must speak with Meghan!" she'd heard faintly as Ganes pressed the phone to his ear. The butler had glanced at Meghan, who shook her head, closing her eyes. She'd looked away, trying to prevent the tears from falling...

"I'm sorry, Master Lucas, but she does not wish to speak with you."

"Tell her that I'm begging her. I beg that she give me a chance."

She'd stood up then, and had left the room. While in the hall, she'd heard Ganes gently set down the receiver, breaking the connection.

Now, as that phone and others throughout the mansion incessantly rang - by now going unanswered - Meghan was at a loss as to what to do next. She was seriously considering an early bedtime. But whatever she did, she wouldn't be leaving this room. The idea of that terrified her.

She remembered another extremely recent conversation. Just after supper, while Meghan was in this very room, she'd heard shuffling as someone approached her door. She'd thought they'd keep right on going. Instead, there came a knock. It had startled her.

The first image that had come to her mind was of the worst possible scenario - a placid-sounding Alistair, requesting he be let in to breathe more poison down her neck.

Within a few seconds she realized that it could be the butler, perhaps at his wits' end, there to persuade Meghan to talk to the wretched boy already.

But neither of these were the case.

"Meghan, may I come in?" came the exhausted voice behind the door. Henry.

She'd opened the door for him.

The object of his stopping in was to discuss the disclosure - or rather, non-disclosure - of events and situations to others outside this household or that of the Winthrops'. Since Meghan would be back at Jasperstone tomorrow, Henry had suggested that it would be best not to inform anyone outside of this circle of the attempted kidnapping, or of the relation he held to her cousin. Also, no one other than her host-family was to be aware of her temporary living arrangements.

Not even those residing in New York, apparently.

"They will know soon enough, I'll venture to say." He had acknowledged. "Many people will know soon enough. But we don't want an uproar. Alistair is very persnickety about these things, and I decided that it would be better that I tell you rather than for you to hear it from him."

Meghan had nodded, extremely grateful.

"The Winthrops have been informed of this, and Clarissa is to follow the same rule. Until...progress is made, this is no business of the public." He'd half-smiled. Henry had not wanted to seem cold.

"I understand."

As he'd approached the door to exit, he'd very reluctantly told her that the Brenshires had been informed as well. Her face had taken on a distant look as she nodded. Henry had paused for a few seconds.

"Meghan, again, I'm very sorry." he'd told her, and sympathy did coat his words. "Goodnight, now."

That was forty-five minutes ago. Meghan had long finished unpacking and arranging things to her satisfaction, and she'd already done a fair amount of staring out the window. Out at the nighttime version of that perfect courtyard, at the lit fountain in its center, and she'd watched the water trickle down.

Perhaps the best thing to do really was to go to bed.

She donned her pajamas that Faye had brought, no longer needing Jocelyn's nightgown. Meghan stared at the pattern on those pajamas: cows jumping over moons. Even her St. Patrick's Day slippers had been delivered to her. Meghan set them daintily in front of the chair, next to the moccasins and the strappy heels. She was struck by the contrast the pajamas and slippers held to her surroundings. Funky and fun against classy and dignified.

Meghan shuffled to the bed and pulled down the covers. She switched off the light as she crawled in, and caught a whiff of the fancy potpourri that sat in a basket on the nightstand. She curled up into a tight ball, lying on her side.

It was unlikely that the thick down comforter would truly protect Meghan from Alistair, or from her own heartbreak. But pretending that it would was a tremendous help. Meghan burrowed down into the fabric and closed her eyes.

**Hoped you liked these. :) Sorry I don't have more right now, but I will be back. I'm still writing.**

**Thanks very much again to all of you. Leave feedback if you'd like, I'm always happy to read it.**

**-rf-**


	64. The Sought After

**First and foremost: If you are reading this, thank you. You are incredible.**

**Second: I realize there's nothing much I can say for myself. I've been ashamed for such a long time, worried my heart couldn't be in this anymore, focusing on anything and everything else. But I've finally realized that regardless of what an a*s I've made of myself, I should finish what I started, and finish it properly.**

**So here's what I've got. I'm grateful to anyone who reads it. **

**Thanks also to RandomRiter for giving me the jolt I needed.**

It was interesting, I thought, to ride in a shiny black luxury car belonging to your cousin's dad, alone, in your Jasperstone uniform, wringing you hands, until said car stopped about a block away from the school, where you were to step out and start walking toward that school, while still nervously wringing your hands.

That's right. I think in run-on sentences. Or floating bits, one of the two. In case you hadn't noticed.

I won't bother telling you about the gawking stares I received, like usual, as I walked alone through the imposing gates. Oh, wait, I just did...well, it would have gone without saying, anyway.

Now, I was the EX of Lucas Brenshire. The one who'd been kicked to the curb and ground in with a gleaming leather shoe. Always another reason for all eyes to be on Meghan Reynolds. I would say that I was sick of it, but today the stares seemed trivial.

I had no idea what the day would bring. Enough pity to make me lose breakfast? Probably. But other than that, I was clueless. What would happen when I saw Clarissa? I hoped with all of my heart that the trauma of her stepsister's existence would keep her not only away from the mansion, but out of the learning establishment as well. Just away from _me,_ in general. I was terrified of her.

I went through my first class fidgeting with apprehension, and it didn't let up for PE...if anything, it got worse. A couple of girls had it in for me, and when we paraded into the gym to start with our current unit - basketball - I was hit with glares as well as stares. And soon enough, I was hit with bright orange sports equipment. Twice.

But they were only accidents. From the instructor's point of view, at least.

I knew then that Clarissa had broken Lord Dashwood's rule. She had most likely spilled, to some members of her herd. In truth, I probably would've done the same thing in her position, confiding my secrets in a couple of my closest gal-pals.

But then, I didn't associate with bullies and nimrods.

And I'd never tell a secret to someone if I couldn't presume, with absolute certainty, that they'd keep it safe.

Of course, those who palled around with Clarissa did have to consider the near-fatal consequences (i.e. what she'd do to them) if they made the world know what was going down - therefore humiliating her. So I wasn't exactly expecting a huge uproar to occur at any second. If one did, I'd probably end up causing it myself.

So for now, at least, the jabs would be subtle. I tried to gather a little comfort from that...and wasn't very successful. My mind was in complete disarray.

I was even more of a nervous wreck as I neared Ms. Blithe's classroom - this being despite knowing that, if Clarissa were even in there, she couldn't really do much against me without making a complete fool of herself. And her number one priority, most times, seemed to be keeping herself from being made a fool. It was right up there with making fools of everyone else.

As I turned the door handle and stepped in, I delayed my own breathing without realizing it. I noticed that somehow, in the last few months, all of my New York gutsiness had been robbed of me.

There she was, in her usual seat. In the few seconds I allowed my eyes to take her in before I averted them, I saw that she was bent over her desk, writing something.

_Probably another scheming threat in the form of a lame excuse for prose. _I thought.

I took my seat. The assignment for today was written on the board: we were to write an essay about the difference between coincidence and luck. I knew better than to analyze that too deeply; I wouldn't really need to, anyway, because Ms. Blithe looked to be asleep on top of her desk. Her face was planted in her folded arms, and her shoulder pads rose and fell in an even rhythm.

I started to write aimlessly, but strangely, the topic overtook me. Soon I was writing an opinion piece, which I'm sure wasn't the desired format for this particular essay...but I didn't care. I felt so robbed of a voice.

Fifty or so minutes later, I still hadn't received any threatening notes. I was just barely able to finish the essay before the bell rang, and you should have seen Ms. Blithe jump from her slumber at the noise.

"I...I want everything on my desk, whether you've finished or not." she stammered, her words slurring a bit with her drowsiness.

We did as we were told, though I was careful to remain a safe distance from blonde, letting her brood shuffle out the door long before I approached it. When I did, I was surprised to see Clarissa in the hallway looking straight at me, over her shoulder as she walked.

For about two seconds, I glimpsed a look I'd never seen on her before. She turned away, however, before I could analyze, and quickened her pace down the hall.

I wondered if I'd imagined that look as I started toward my next drudgery of a class.

**The lunch hour** had come, after two more grueling classes. I wasn't sure if this was good or bad. It wasn't as if I'd get a break from people staring holes into the back of my head. And no one properly used enough authority to stop anyone from taunting poor saps out in the courtyard. Maybe they thought it toughened girls up, or whatever.

I was about to reluctantly join the lunch line when I heard the loudspeaker.

_"Meghan Reynolds, please report to the headmaster's office."_

Great. Just great. They're going to expel me because I disrupted the peace by dating an aristocrat and then later had that aristocrat make out with another girl at a ball which only further served to disrupt the peace.

Or worse. Maybe Alistair was there.

Maybe _right now,_ he was binding Mr. Raspron's hands and feet and putting a gag in his mouth and shoving him into a broom closet before making his bald self comfortable in the tufted swivel chair, so that when I came in and stopped just inside the doorway and murmured, "Sir, you wanted to see me?", the chair would swivel around dramatically and there would be Shakespeare with Evil Sauce, his eyes bulging like those of a hungry rat. He would then laugh in a disturbing way.

I truly was paranoid.

Turns out, what awaited me in the headmaster's office was neither of those things, nor was it anything else I could have ever thought to expect. Mr. Raspron was not trapped with a mop and bucket, and he wasn't preparing to stamp red ink all over my transcript. He only had a question.

"Miss Reynolds," he began, addressing me from where he sat behind his desk, "How interested would you be in attending Oxford University?"

**Luke didn't often** use his last name to his advantage. Sure, there were the "perks" that inevitably came with it - the money, the prestige, the glittering balls - but he rarely deliberately used "Brenshire" as a source of power over anyone else. Today, to an extent, was one of those rare times he did.

If anyone else had simply risen from his seat in the middle of class and walked out, they would have been pursued, and asked of what had given them the urge to do so. When he did this, the teacher only paused for a moment before resuming his lecture.

If anyone else had trounced through the halls at a flustered pace without a hall pass, passing teachers who strolled by and monitors who stood watch, they would've been stopped by some person or another within seconds. When he did this, the teachers strolled on, seemingly oblivious. The monitors stared at the walls.

If anyone else had pushed on through the gigantic double doors at the entrance to The Morris Brenshire School for Boys, someone burly would've come out and pulled him back in. When he did this, the guard at the front gate only watched him with curiosity. Furthermore, the large gate doors themselves slowly opened. No questions asked by anyone, anywhere. He was Lucas Brenshire. There must be good reason.

The reason was that all through his classes, Luke had been thinking nothing but "Meghan, Meghan, Meghan." He'd been drumming his fingers anxiously through every lesson, especially after he'd decided on his plan.

The Jasperstone lunch break and the Morris lunch break were strategically held at different times. Jasperstone's was at 12:00, Morris's at 1:00. This was done to prevent boys from coming across to mingle and meander with girls, and vice-versa, which had happened in the past, despite the imposing stone walls.

It had been at approximately 12:20 that Luke had left his class, forty minutes before its end. He doubted he would have to climb any walls, but if it came to that, he'd give it a try. He was going to speak with Meghan, and this might be his only chance. He didn't care what anyone at Jasperstone thought. This was the only window of time in which she wouldn't be guarded or hidden by someone else, and he wouldn't be impeded by crowds or cars or both.

As he'd predicted, even the Jasperstone gates easily opened for him. He had only to make eye contact with the guard, who gave him a curious look in return but nonetheless didn't hesitate to grant access. Luke immediately came through and started straight for the back courtyard. He knew she'd be there. He'd seen her come to school.

But she wasn't there. Not in her usual place by the fountain, where she'd told him she'd been banished. Not anywhere. And now, of course, hundreds of shocked eyes were on him.

Luke grabbed at his collar, and nervous heat came over his face. He looked to the bench by the fountain again. Two girls sat there: the girl from Hong Kong, and Faye. He quickly walked to them.

"Faye," he hissed frantically. "Where is Meghan?"

Faye had paused in the middle of chewing on a bite of sandwich. She swallowed and replied, matter-of-factly,

"She got called to the headmaster's."

Luke looked this way and that, running his fingers through his hair, trying to decide whether or not he should go on in. It would be a risky thing, going in to interrupt whatever conversation was being had. If Headmaster Raspron was missing lunch, it must be something important. Luke was sure he wouldn't be allowed a word with Meghan, and word would get back to his family and numerous other people about his having disrespected authority. But she might be in there for the rest of the lunch hour, and he knew he couldn't wait out here in the courtyard. Everyone was staring at him. Soon, he'd be questioned. Luke was torn.

But before he could make a decision, the flashes commenced. He turned around and saw that a number of paparazzi clowns had seen him leave school and had followed him onto the Jasperstone campus. Paparazzi were amazingly good at scaling walls when there was dirt to be collected. Luke had forgotten about them.

Immediately, he bolted into the cafeteria, closed the doors behind him, and sunk down. All who were cooking and cleaning froze in their acts.

"What are you staring at?" he asked them.


	65. The Eventful Lunch Hour

**Meghan's face** took on a look of utter confusion as she sat opposite the headmaster, her hands fingering the hem of her plaid uniform skirt.

"Uh...what?"

Mr. Raspron's impending grin was trying desperately to make itself known. He knew this would be a shock, one hard to comprehend...and the look on the girl's face was quite amusing.

"Just what I said. You did hear me correctly...?"

Meghan drew back, blinking quickly, trying to digest the situation.

"Yes, I heard, but...why would you ask me that?"

A chuckle.

"Because apparently, the institution I've just mentioned is _highly_ interested in you."

He placed a sealed envelope in front of her, one that bore the Oxford crest in the upper corner. Meghan gazed at it for a second. She remained puzzled.

"Again, why?"

"Someone brought your name to their attention, and for some reason they're intrigued."

Meghan thought about this, and a slow half-smile started to form.

"Lady Dashwood?"

Mr. Raspron smiled back, though his expression was strange.

"Well, yes, she's involved, for reasons that are beyond me. But she's not the one I'm referring to."

"Then who?"

"Prudence Blithe."

Meghan was again taken aback. _Ms. Blithe?_ The exceptionally heavy sleeper who was also exceptionally dull and exceptionally rigid? Impossible!

"What? How? No way." Meghan couldn't stop herself from blurting surprised interjections.

"Ah, I couldn't believe it either. But it was she herself who referred you to them initially. Apparently, you're an excellent writer, and your cumulative grades have skyrocketed since you've arrived here."

Meghan stared downward, shaking her head. None of this was making sense. Ms. Blithe never cared about how well anyone wrote; she cared only about grammatical mistakes, which she would scout out like a bloodhound when correcting assignments, never hesitating to bark. The bulky woman was so disinterested during class time that Meghan rarely saw her awake past the twenty minute mark, unless of course some Payne or another was entertaining her. And as for Meghan's grades? They'd always, _always_ been just good enough, and nothing more.

"I...really don't believe this. There must be a mix-up or something."

"Not so. Prudence submitted your work to the university, admittedly without much hope. But as you gained...notoriety, they started to re-examine you. For some strange reason this led them to contact Lady Dashwood who, curiously enough, endorsed you. Now, in case you weren't aware of this, Miss Reynolds, both her son and her late husband were alumnus of the university and the family continues to be a major benefactor. If a Dashwood endorses you, you're in, irrefutably."

Why on Earth would Ms. Blithe care where Meghan continued her education? Why would Lady Dashwood put in such a good word without a valid reason? Why would she then not say anything about it?

"So, that said - what's your answer?"

Meghan looked up.

"What?"

"You haven't answered my question. Would you be interested?"

He picked up the envelope and held it out to her.

_Since when is he so friendly and generous? Is he getting a cut of the university funds?_ Meghan thought.

"Take it, at least. Think about it."

But there was nothing to think about. Maybe Jocelyn had thought she was...well, Daphne, when she'd made that so-called "endorsement". In any case, however, the entire thing was ridiculous. Out of her price-range and out of her mind-range. Out of the question.

"I - I can't..."

That very second, a piercing noise filled the room.

**Lyle, the head chef** at Jasperstone Academy (yes, that's right, the _head chef_ of school lunches), was an extraordinary cook with a passion for food. He considered his work an art form, one which he took very seriously. Therefore, when he was in the midst of creating something delicious, it was insisted on that there be no distractions to drive him from his focus. His one main flaw: he was easily distracted.

Which is why, while he was preparing something that involved hot oil and an open flame, it was not the ideal moment for a junior aristocrat to burst in unannounced, followed by several flashing cameras that bashed into the kitchen door like crows flying into a clean glass window.

Before anyone knew what was happening, a bright _whoosh! _rose out of the grill. Lyle jumped out of the way, while shouts came from every direction.

The boy, Luke, looked on in horror for a few seconds as an alarm started to blare. Someone grabbed an extinguisher and blasted it at the flame as if he were holding a machine gun.

Before Luke could feel guilt for yet another disaster he'd caused, he dashed from the room and into the school halls.

A few teachers and faculty were hurrying down these halls, making their escape before whatever had set off the alarm could get to them.

"Well, it's lucky all the girls are - " one started to say, before sighting Luke a few feet away.

"Lucas? What are you doing here? You've got to get outside."

"I - wait, I am, but - "

"Go on, then."

And so Luke was walking, and several school staff members followed him at a brisk pace. He walked until he ran straight into -

"Lucas! Darling!"

Whereas he had been on his way out, Clarissa Payne had been on her way in. And she looked the phoniest kind of anxious.

"Thank goodness I've found you! I had to make sure you got out _alive!" _she gushed, ever the drama queen.

Luke abruptly gathered himself and walked around her.

"Excuse me, _dear,_ but I believe I'm speaking to you."

"Move ALONG, Clarissa." One of the teachers barked.

The blonde quickly shuffled along to keep pace with the object of her affection.

"I'm sorry to be stern with you, darling, but this is an emergency! And this on top of those dreadful photographers...I was _oh _so very worried about you."

"Curl up and die, Clarissa." Luke muttered.

"Yes, I almost DIED at the thought of something happening to you."

They exited the building, and it was then that Luke's luck and timing became its most miserable yet.

There was the headmaster, two receptionists, a janitor, and Meghan Reynolds, standing at the back of the crowds.

"Oh no, there she is, love." Clarissa crooned in mock sympathy. "Don't worry; we can break it to her gently."

At the sound of Clarissa's voice, Meghan slowly turned to face them, and was immediately taken aback.

"Meghan!" Luke sputtered.

"Now, now, dear, don't be too abrupt." advised Clarissa, feigning concern.

"What in blazes are you talking about?" Luke shouted in reply. He turned back to Miss Reynolds. "Meghan, please, listen to me - "

"She's going to find out the truth some way or another." Clarissa remarked. "Be gentle, but don't stall."

At this, disbelief mounted in Meghan's eyes, and she shook her head slowly in shock, her mouth slightly agape. Then, she retreated into the crowds.

"No! Wait!" Luke called after her. He started to follow, but was held back - by Clarissa on one side, and a random teacher on the other.

"Oh, no, you don't." The random teacher told him. "You leave that poor girl alone. You've caused her enough pain as it is."

"I need to rectify what I've done." he told the man, trying to shake Clarissa off as he did so. Clarissa, meanwhile, was murmuring inane lines softly enough to sound sympathetic but loudly enough for others to hear and therefore gather a certain impression.

"It's alright, sweetheart, you'll speak with her soon. Perhaps she's just not ready, but soon she'll understand. And then we can be together without worry. Don't fret - "

Luke turned to look her straight in the eye.

"Stop. Your. LYING." he snarled, wrenching his arm from her grasp. He then let himself be escorted, by aforementioned teachers, toward the school's exit.

**Well, I hope these were at least somewhat enjoyable. I want everyone to know that I know how this story will end, that this has not been a neverending make-up-as-I-go fic, despite its length. And I am determined to finally ride it through.**

**Next two will be up Sunday at the LATEST. I will respond personally to anyone who reviews.**

**I truly and sincerely apologize.**


	66. The Family Talk

**Well, it's late, but Sunday (where I am), and here I present you with two more chapters as promised. To everyone who reviewed: It's beyond a thank you. I must tell you that you've made me incredibly happy. I'll be starting my replies to you after this. But to ANYONE who's reading, I am most grateful.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

Fortunately, though the kitchen was left considerably charred, the fire was eventually put out. Nonetheless, the general consensus among faculty was that it would be best to let everyone go home.

"I'm not about to go back in there. The halls reek of smoke." said Mr. Harlison, who really just wanted to get home early to catch a TV cricket game he would've otherwise missed. Also, his socks needed reorganizing and the neighbor's dog was probably digging holes in his yard again.

Meghan was left crying on Faye's shoulder in a far corner of the schoolyard while the crowds thinned out. One thoughtful schoolmate - Ayaka from Hong Kong - was nice enough to bring out their book bags. Faye handed Meghan hers as she murmured words of encouragement.

"There, there, I know it hurts, but it will get better. I promise."

"How could he...how..." Meghan sobbed.

"Shh, it's alright."

They heard someone call Clarissa's name. Apparently, her ride was here.

"I'm not riding with her. If a car comes to take her to the Dashwoods, I'm not getting in."

"Mum and me will take you. It'll be alright." Faye reassured her, before seeing Miss Payne herself sashay over to an unknown luxury vehicle with one of her friends. "She's going with Ruth Morton, anyway."

Faye held Meghan for about a minute more, before Meghan pulled away, trying to gather herself. Sniveling, she slung her book bag over her shoulder, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

"Thank you." she told her friend.

"I'll hear nothing of that. This is what I'm here for." said Faye. "Now, how to get home. Mum's at work and Dad's negotiating with his attorney. We'll walk home. Then when Mum's off we'll drive you to the manor."

"And Clarissa won't be there?" Meghan asked, though Faye couldn't possibly have answered that with certainty.

"Not as far as you're concerned." was the reply. Meghan smiled the tiniest bit, and they started for the gate.

The headmaster, who was "keeping things in order" just outside (really he just wanted to look good for the press, representing the school and how much it "cared for the students' safety"), stopped them as they began to leave.

"Miss Reynolds, I want you to consider this." he said, taking the Oxford envelope out his jacket. "You have plenty of time to turn it down."

And there was plenty of potential sponsorship money to be had, he thought.

Not caring anymore, Meghan sighed and took what Mr. Raspron held out to her, shoving it in her book bag. Maybe that way, she could forget about it easily.

The two began walking in the direction of Faye's cottage, and were about 100 feet away from the school before they heard someone say "Miss Reynolds." again.

It was the driver of the Dashwood limousine. He'd brought the car to a crawl behind them, and was now parking it along the sidewalk.

Meghan looked to Faye.

"Come with me?" she asked, as the driver got out and walked back to hold the door open for her.

"Of course."

**At the same time,** at about 8:24am in the Eastern Time zone of the United States, three women stood shivering in Times Square, gawking at a giant Bugs Bunny Balloon.

It was Thanksgiving morning, and Daphne was _trying_ to enjoy the parade - but all she could think about was the one who should be eating turkey with them, who wouldn't be, this year.

It had been Catherine's idea to go. They hadn't seen it in person in five years; the last time, her husband had accompanied them. But she'd thought it as a way of getting some fresh, exciting November air for a fresh, exciting new start to their lives. With all the changes that had taken place and all that were still to come, this was a chance for them to take advantage of what life brought them. Who knew where they'd be next year, she'd said.

Until yesterday, Daphne had been manic with her studies (even more manic than usual), forcing herself as much as she could to think only of what was concrete, what was in her control. A week ago she had broken down, and called Meghan. But since hanging up the phone that time, she had resolved to keep her eyes dry, her focus sharp, and her face to the wind. She smothered her feelings in front of the world. On Saturday, the normal calling night, she'd tried her best to make Meghan believe she had gotten over everything and was standing strong.

But it was only an outward portrayal of what Daphne wanted to be. It wasn't what she was, not in her mind. She'd always had this problem somewhat, off and on, for most of her life. But for the last few weeks, the battle between inner and outer character had been an especially difficult one, slowly escalating as time went by.

There was a weird, restless impatience that nagged ever-so-subtle in Daphne's head. And now, what with it being Thanksgiving break for the next ten days, there'd be no homework to distract her from it.

"Daphne, why is your nose glued to the ground?" Libby asked her daughter. "You're missing the giant Elmer Fudd."

"Uh, I'm just looking at that guy's shoes." Daphne stammered, referring to a man standing in front of them whose shoes looked to be made of snakeskin. He was also wearing a Panama hat, which contrasted strangely with his thick leather jacket. Daphne was glad that the man was standing there with his interesting shoes conveniently located where her eyes were focused.

Libby stole a glance.

"Hmm, I see, those are pretty cool."

At that exact moment, the Panama hat blew off its owner's head. And Catherine, who'd been the only one facing upwards at the time, was able to make the save.

"Here you go." she said, handing the hat to someone in a leather jacket whom had gone a bit frantic all of a sudden.

"Thank you, ma'am." he'd said, relief in his expression as he took the hat and held it under his arm, opting not to place it back on his head.

Daphne couldn't help but smile a bit at that.

**Not one smile** could be seen in the Brenshire household, however, and facial expressions there grew even darker as the day wore on. Both Morris and Jasperstone had phoned to inform Luke's family of what had taken place and how he had been involved in it. News reports continued his sad story on television, and unflattering photographs were sure to appear in tomorrow's periodicals.

Lillith Brenshire was not at all pleased with her son's actions.

Her ladyship liked to think of herself as a respectable woman, and she wanted her family to behave in a respectable way. In general, her husband gave her the most worry in that regard. Though it was a problem kept hidden or overlooked in the realm, Lord Brenshire's drinking sometimes led him to do strange things, which required his wife to keep careful watch of him.

Her daughter was an educated young woman who carried herself with poise and was delightful company to those who knew her. Her son had strange views of things, to be sure, but still had always possessed a fair amount of dignity and had never truly given his mother a reason to fear embarrassment.

Until Miss Meghan, that was.

Now, at the root of things, Lillith had never really cared for Clarissa Payne, whom everyone else seemed to think was the most suitable match for Lucas. Clarissa seemed a bit devious in Lillith's opinion, a bit unruly, seemed to have a strange agenda. Lady Brenshire would have much preferred a different girl for Luke when he did decide to openly date.

Meghan Reynolds was not quite the kind of girl she had in mind, to be sure. The press had been having an absolute field day ever since she had been revealed as her son's "girlfriend", and Luke had become a bit more loose with the way he acted in public. He'd seemed to relax to the point of being headed for carelessness. This had given Lillith some anxiety, but nothing could have prepared her for the incident at the ball and what followed.

Regardless of whatever could be said against Miss Reynolds, Lucas had blatantly wronged her in front of the worst audience possible, before acting like a complete loon from that point forward. And now this, the disregarding of academic authority, the trespassing on Jasperstone grounds, the kitchen fire that was rumored to have actually been _caused_ by him...it had taken the last of Lillith's patience.

Which was why she now sat across from the boy, in the parlor, giving him the sternest reprimandation.

She'd summoned her husband, who was a bit more sober than usual for a day away from Parliament, asking that he sit beside her to help them present themselves as a "unified front". Admittedly, she didn't hold much faith in that prospect, but it was worth a try. Then, she'd gone to fetch Luke, who'd been about to start another onslaught of calls to Dashwood manor.

"Put it down. Now." she'd commanded, referring to the phone in his hand. Confused, he had done so. "Come with me." she'd said next.

Luke had known by his mother's tone that she was about to add to his misery. But the respectful thing to do was to rise and follow her out of the room. And so, he had.

Within a minute he had been seated in front of his parents. His father, whose hand Lillith had pinned down with her own, attempted to look strict, but only looked exhausted. His wife, however, was a force to be reckoned with.

"You've not a shade of an idea of the grief you are causing this family." Lillith stated. "Your relationship with the girl was preposterous enough, but you have managed to disgrace even that. And you thought of her so highly? You humiliated her. And you are humiliating all of us."

Luke could only look on, hating every inch of the figurative prison of shame he'd landed in.

"Do you know what you've done? Are you aware of the absolute fool you're making of yourself? Incessantly phoning the Dashwoods for reasons beyond me. Clowning around for the press. Traipsing on private grounds. Flaunting a status you never earned..."

Lillith paused for a moment, looking away and taking a breath.

"Those things in mind, let me enlighten you on your current situation. Lord Dashwood has phoned us personally, asking that you cease your constant phone calls and informing me that you are banned from Dashwood Manor indefinitely."

For Luke, this was a dagger to the stomach. The man he looked to for guidance, the man he most respected and admired, considered him dead.

"You have also, apparently, been forbidden to set foot on the Jasperstone Academy premises, also indefinitely. And the money we will donate to restore the burnt kitchen shall come directly from your account."

_Take it all. Please. It won't affect me in the least. _Luke thought.

"And lastly, our personal mandates. For the next month you will not leave this house but to attend school. For the month following that you will appear in public with the family only. You shall have no "palm pilot" until February 2004."

Not one of these mattered. Only that he was banned from the Dashwoods, and was being prevented from seeing the girl he longed to be with.

"Finally, under no circumstances are you to bother that Reynolds girl, ever again. You ruined her life by forcing her into a world she didn't belong to, only to toss her out like rubbish. And then, what, you stalk her? No. It ends here."

Luke tried one pitiful plea.

"Mother, I have to at least make my case. I have to tell her what happened. I lost my sanity somehow. I was ill. I didn't know up from down. I felt poisoned. I don't know how, but it's the truth. Please."

His mother examined him for a few moments, stock still, completely silent.

"I'll never know the truth, Lucas. But if you must, you may use your free time this month to write her a final letter, to attempt to apologize for your actions. Someone else is to deliver it."

Luke said nothing.

"These are our restrictions, but for one more. You are to stay away from Clarissa Payne."

That was the most beautiful thing he'd heard in days.


	67. The Giving of Thanks

**Despite her outer façade** of complete, domineering control to Lucas and most of the general public, Clarissa was an unstable pit of gushing lava within.

Henry, Daddy Dearest, had sat in front of her and told her that he'd had a _child_ with a _relative _of that wretched exchange student. The same girl that'd slammed into her on her critical first day back at Jasperstone. The same girl who felt entitled to hang around _the manor_ anytime she pleased. And the same girl who'd staked an unrightful claim on her dear beau.

It was outrageous. It was mad. It was simply impossible.

But he had looked at her, his face like stone, utterly serious. So, she'd gone to throw a tantrum.

Later, she'd cried ever-so-dramatically to Ruth and Prathabelle (Prat for short), begging for comfort and promising them torturous lives and ruined reputations should they ever eek a word to anyone else. She intended to stay at Ruth's for at least a week, for three reasons: 1. To stay away from the sick creature called Reynolds who'd ruined her life, 2. To convey a message to Henry that she'd never forgive him and make him realize that maybe someone should have "put a cork in it a long time ago", and 3. To make sure Ruth was thoroughly clear on what the consequences would be if she opened her mouth. Clarissa reminded her and Prat of this every day, in creepy sing-songy reminders that oozed subtle viciousness.

Despite her intimidating demeanor, and despite the delicious betrayal she'd caused at the dance, Clarissa was not feeling her best. Actual emotions threatened to surface, though the most prevalent emotion she felt was pure rage. If one were to have examined her mind, one would have been surprised to discover how authentic that rage actually was. Clarissa tended to exaggerate her moods (though she'd never admit to that; it was rather obvious to most people anyway), but no amount of exaggeration could have amplified this feeling more than it already was.

Clarissa's hands were tied for the time being, just like Alistair's, as far as striking back went. Only, while Alistair was out to get rid of Meghan and her family to support his own career ambitions, Clarissa had wanted revenge, plain and simple. Until now, she'd had no reason to fear losing her status. Her main reason for hating Meghan was that the girl was becoming as popular as she was, and had stolen her Lucas.

She'd gotten some sweet payback at the ball, it was true. And to see the girl cry in the corner with Fried Wizracket had given Miss Payne much pleasure. But it wouldn't last long if Luke kept evading her, or if he were to somehow make Meghan believe he still loved her, and that the kiss wasn't his fault.

All that Clarissa could do was make as many people as possible believe that she and Luke were "secretly together", until she could figure out another way to cause torment. Maybe if it got bad enough, the girl would fly back to the New York sewers where she belonged.

**I was unbelievably glad** that Clarissa had not returned, and that word was she'd be staying until this time next week, or later.

I was also lucky enough to be free of Alistair this night, with him being off at some kind of business dinner or something.

But Glynnis, who ironically was the lesser of the three evils, was not absent in the least. She tried her best to make her presence known every second, in fact, as she chomped loudly at the dining table.

Faye was here, though. She'd been invited to stay for dinner after keeping me company in my room for a few hours, talking to me about Luke and about Daphne. Now, she sat next to me, while Henry sat at the head of the table on my other side. Jocelyn was seated across from me, of which I was glad. She seemed content, as always.

And she, along with Faye, kept the conversation going, chatting me up on lighter subjects to keep my spirits up. Henry and Glynnis didn't join in much, as Henry was too busy thinking, and Glynnis was too busy chomping.

I was happy to see that both Dashwoods seemed to like Faye very well. Jocelyn in particular found her to be an excellent person to talk to. She was sure to let Faye know just how highly she thought of her as she rose from the table at the meal's end.

"You're welcome here anytime, dear, I hope you know that." she said, gently pushing her chair under the table. "It was lovely talking with you."

"The pleasure was all mine, your ladyship."

"Ms. Dashwood will do, Faye darling. I shall be seeing you. And have a good night, Meghan."

"Good night." I told her, giving her the best smile I could.

She smiled back, then went to pour herself a cup of tea, which she'd take to her bedroom.

Glynnis then very loudly dropped her silverware onto her plate, before very loudly scooting herself and the chair backwards, then proceeding to stand up, bulky and imposing, turn and push her chair (very loudly) into the table. She gave Henry a hard, obvious look before stalking off with her plate.

She almost tripped in the kitchen doorway. It was the hardest thing in the world for me not to laugh at that.

Henry stared after her, bored, and unless I was seeing things, I think he actually rolled his eyes.

As Faye and I started to stand, he held up one finger, signaling that we wait. We sat back down.

In waltzed Gaines, holding a small platter with one of those shiny dome lid things covering whatever was on it. He seemed to actually be in a good mood as he did this, despite the never-ending phone calls he'd endured the last couple of days.

He set the platter down in front of Faye and me, and with the utmost panache, removed the lid.

There sat three small plates, each holding a slice of pumpkin pie. Pumpkin pie! I couldn't believe it. I had completely forgotten that it was Thanksgiving. How in the world...

"Oh my, what a nice surprise!" Faye exclaimed.

How could anyone here have known what day it was today, let alone that pumpkin pie was the traditional dessert? I looked to Henry, who had a wry smile on his face as he snagged one of the plates for himself.

"Don't tell Mother." he said with a wink.

I smiled.

"How did you know...?"

He passed a plate to me and one to Faye.

"Ah, my secret."

With eyes wide, I cut a piece with my shiny fork and took a bite. It was delicious. Faye seemed to like it, too.

"Good?" Henry asked, when his was already half-finished.

We both nodded.

"Thank you." I told him.

Now it was his turn to nod. "Thought you might appreciate it."

He polished the rest of his pie off in no time, and took his plate to the kitchen. He emerged a minute later, on his way to the office. He looked very fatigued and seemed to drag a bit as he walked. He stopped momentarily next to us.

"Well, Faye, it was splendid having you here. Hope to have you back. And you," he said, eyeing me directly. "Sleep well."

I knew he meant more than that. I answered honestly.

"I'll try."

He gave a slight smile and patted my shoulder as he raggedly walked out.

**About an hour or two later,** a feast was being set out at the Reynolds residence. Everyone was happy that Catherine had the day off, for once. Grandpa Reynolds was visiting from the senior home, and was watching the football game with vigor. A turkey had been delivered and was already sitting on the table. Daphne had helped Catherine make her special homemade dressing, while Libby had mashed the potatoes with enough force to make one think she had a vendetta against them.

As the newly mashed potatoes were set on the feasting surface, the doorbell rang. Catherine ran to answer it.

"Mom! Dad! You're finally here." she said happily. Russ and Patricia Shore had arrived, and they both wore enormous grins.

"Brought the gravy!" Russ announced, holding up a bundle of his famous concoction.

"Thank goodness." Catherine remarked. "Libby pummeled those potatoes."

"Aunt Tricia! Uncle Russ!" came a voice.

"Is that our Daffy?"

Indeed it was, and she'd wheeled Grandpa Reynolds in with her. The couple rushed in to greet them.

"Hello, sweetheart!" said Patricia as she smothered Daphne in a hug. She insisted that the girl call her Aunt Tricia because she thought it made her sound younger and more hip.

"How ya doin', Pete?" Russ asked Grandpa Reynolds.

"Great, except I'm missin' the game."

"Oh yeah! You know what, so am I!" Russ agreed before giving Daphne a kiss on the cheek. "Let's go on in there-"

"It's time to eat right now." Libby told him as she walked up for a hug. She glanced around the corner at the television. "And it's halftime anyway."

Soon, the TV was off (for the time being), and they were well into a scrumptious meal. With six people there, conversation flowed, but Meghan's absence was still noticeable.

"I hope she had a nice Thanksgiving." Libby remarked. "Though she's probably sleeping now."

"I hear both Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop are good cooks. Maybe they made her some turkey."

"If she asked for it. Maybe she forgot."

"Who are the Winthrops again? Are they the family she's staying with?" Patricia asked.

"That they are." her daughter answered.

"Speaking of that." Russ said, with a mischievous smile.

Everyone looked at him, and noticed a smile on his wife's face that mirrored his. Russ paused for a minute as they looked at each other.

"We've been thinking. It's starting to get a little boring around our neck of the woods...the last thing we did was our rock climbing trip, and that was what, three months ago?"

"Almost." his wife confirmed.

"Yeah. And...also, we've been hearing that a certain someone has been missing her cousin very, very much. And that same someone will be out of school until a week from Monday."

All was silent as Mr. Shore looked to his daughter's niece, whose eyes were already going wide.

"So Daphne, we have a proposition for you."

**So...what do you think of that? I'm excited. I'm so happy to be doing this again.**

**Hope these were a good read. I will return in one week.**

**-rf-**


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